


At the Height of His Affection

by JezebelGoldstone



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Getting Together, Humor, Lots and lots of sex, Love Declarations, M/M, Merlin is a mind-reader, Not Kingsman: The Golden Circle Compliant, Relationship Negotiation, Romance, Roxy Is a Good Bro, Sex, Suicidal Ideation, True Love, brief mentions of homophobia, mentor to friends to lovers, not Kingsman 2 compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2018-10-28 12:49:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10831614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JezebelGoldstone/pseuds/JezebelGoldstone
Summary: Eggsy is determined to do well by Harry. He'll build him up, help him understand what a good man he is. While they're together Eggsy will do his best to live for Harry and make him understand how much more he's worth. And when Eggsy succeeds and Harry realizes he can have more, that he deserves more--- Eggsy will never be what holds Harry back from finding true happiness.*When Harry comes back, Eggsy can't find it in himself to keep his feelings quiet any longer. But no matter how this plays out, Eggsy knows to the bottom of his soul that he will never, ever be good enough for someone as amazing as Harry Hart.As for what Harry thinks, well...





	1. Chapter 1

I want more.  
-Vivian, _Pretty Woman_

I had not intended to love him; the reader knows I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected; and now, at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously revived, great and strong!  
He made me love him without looking at me.  
[-Jane, _Jane Eyre_](https://www.gutenberg.org/files/1260/1260-h/1260-h.htm)

 

* * *

 

 

Later Merlin explains that the American branch found him, but misidentified him. _Everyone_ misidentified him--- thought he was Bors, who is now still unaccounted for--- because how could it be Harry? It's confirmed that Harry Hart is dead.  
  
Except he's not, it seems. Hurt, yes, but not dead. Shot in the face, sure, but not murdered. Tough old bastard, always, but apparently even tougher than anyone suspected.  
  
So Eggsy finds himself once again fucking keeping vigil at an insensate Harry Hart's bedside. This time, though, Eggsy watches him with a sense of determination settling in his gut that he can't put into words. He's been determined before, but never like this.  
  
Nearly two weeks after Harry was first brought in--- two weeks with a suspicious lack of far-flung missions for Roxy, and a lack of missions full stop for Eggsy, but he's not asking and Merlin's not telling--- Eggsy arrives for his daily visit to Harry and is greeted with the news that he might be waking up.  
  
Waking from a coma, Eggsy learned the  _first_ time Harry was in one, is nothing close to waking from sleep. Add it to the long list of things movies always get wrong. There's stages to waking from a coma, apparently, and there's one or two stages halfway between unconscious and conscious where people tend to get stuck. But Eggsy waits, fidgeting in his seat when the doctors let him into Harry's room and walking a groove in the waiting room floor when they don't, and he doesn't sleep for the twenty hours it takes but Harry does, finally, come all the way out of it.  
  
Eggsy gets kicked out of the room, of course he does, when they're checking Harry over. He's exhausted and frantic both at once, his eyelids heavy and the rest of him ready to vibrate out of his skin with jitters. It's better this way, though. The first time he and Harry see each other again, he wants no distractions.  
  
At last, at last, at last Merlin comes out of Harry's room and goes straight to Eggsy. "He needs to rest soon," Merlin says in a hushed voice.  
  
Eggsy nods and swallows and swallows. Merlin doesn't say anything else, proving he's a mind-reader, just squeezes Eggsy's shoulder and walks away.  
  
He stands there for a moment; the last two weeks he's felt like he's in free-fall, and now all of the sudden he can see the ground rushing at him. It looks like the door to Harry's room. Eggsy takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and doesn't let himself hesitate any longer.  
  
Harry turns to look at him when he walks in, the door falling closed softly behind him, and doesn't say anything. He's pale and scruffy and looks exhausted and sad. He looks worn out. He looks like shit. He looks like a fucking miracle, and Eggsy's never seen anything so gorgeous.  
  
"Hey, Harry," he says softly, dragging his usual chair right up next to Harry and plopping down without waiting for an invitation. "How you feeling?"  
  
There's still bandages covering half his head and his right eye, but Harry hasn't taken his good eye off him this whole time. When he doesn't respond immediately Eggsy's assaulted with all the horrors he hasn't let himself contemplate yet--- what if Harry can't speak? What if Harry doesn't remember him? What if--- and then Harry says, "Rather like I've been shot in the head, hit by a truck, starved, and intubated for the past several weeks," completely deadpan, and Eggsy tips his head back and laughs. He feels the tension bleed out of him like poison.  
  
Eggsy's head lolls forward, his neck so loose he can hardly hold it up anymore, and finds Harry watching him with a tiny smile. "There summat I can get you, bruv?"  
  
"Water, please," says Harry.  
  
There's a cup with a straw on the table next to them. It doesn't occur to Eggsy to just hand the cup to Harry, and he probably wouldn't be able to hold it anyway. Instead he leans forward, holding the cup with one hand and using the other to bring the straw to Harry's mouth. Harry's hand comes up against Eggsy's, guiding him, and it's shaky and light as butterflies. The papery warmth of his skin stays with Eggsy long after Harry's drank his fill and Eggsy withdraws his hand.  
  
They just stay there for a few moments, staring at each other, not saying anything. Finally Eggsy says, "You ought to sleep and all, bruv."  
  
Predictably, Harry grimmaces. Eggsy could dance for how much like the old snarky Harry he is already. "I think you'll find I've done nothing but sleep for quite a while."  
  
"I think  _you'll_ find that medically, comas and sleep is different things, Harry," says Eggsy.  
  
The bandages cover both of his eyebrows, but Eggsy gets the distinct impression one of them is cocked anyway. "Medically, eh? Did Merlin put you up to this?"  
  
"Nah, bruv, he ain't got to," Eggsy says. It's true. Harry's said before that Merlin is one of the worst mother hens he's ever encountered (and the memory doesn't hurt anymore--- or doesn't  _need_ to, at least, since it's no longer a memory of a dead man), but Eggsy's pretty sure that from now on he's going to lose his shit if Harry gets so much as a papercut. "I done some reading and all."  
  
Both eyebrows are definitely up, now, and Harry's smiling wider. "Why Eggsy," he says, his voice growing raspier with use, "did you study up on my ailments?"  
  
"Yeah," Eggsy says, still serious and staring him straight in the eye, "I did."  
  
Harry clearly doesn't know how to react since Eggsy isn't treating it like a joke. The moment stretches, and eventually Eggsy forces himself to look away. He hadn't let himself plan, had tried so  _hard_ to stop himself from hoping--- so he's got no action plan, but he does know that this is neither the time nor the place. So he tears his eyes away from the most beautiful thing he's ever seen and says, "I weren't joking about the sleep, bruv."  
  
"Very well," Harry says, only his voice is very quiet and it sounds like he's talking about something else entirely.  
  
"You want I should go?" Eggsy asks. He doesn't know if he wants the answer to be yes or no.  
  
Harry looks at him a bit longer, but his eye's going glassy, so there's no telling if it's on purpose or if he's getting loopy from the drugs. "No," he says.  
  
"Okay," says Eggsy. "You need anything? More water, another blanket?"  
  
Harry tries to shake his head, then grimaces, his eye falling closed. He turns his head so his neck is straight and says, "I'm fine."  
  
"Right," says Eggsy. He settles back in his chair, wanting to reach for Harry's hand and not even daring to prop his feet on the bed. Soon enough Harry's breathing evens out and his mouth goes slack. There's nowhere Eggsy wants to be except here, but that's probably not a good idea. Merlin'll come in and kick him out soon, anyway.  
  
Harry's up now. Eggsy needs to have a functional head on his shoulders tomorrow. He fetches an extra blanket from the cupboard and puts it on his chair, which he then moves close enough for Harry to reach from the bed. After fussing just a bit more, he can't help himself, he's made sure that the call button is curled in Harry's fingers and doesn't let himself linger for another look.  
  
Ten minutes later he knocks on Merlin's door, and when the man calls for him to enter he opens with, "There an empty room here I could use for the night, guv?" Merlin doesn't even bat an eye, just tells him where to go and says he'll ask housekeeping to bring him some pyjamas and clothes. He gets to the spare room and falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, shoes still on and all.  


* * *

  
One week, Eggsy decides the next morning as he's getting ready. It wouldn't be fair to spring anything huge on Harry when he's still in medical and recovering, so Eggsy won't. Doing it when Harry first gets home and is still settling in wouldn't be kind, either. And if Harry Hart deserves anything, it's kindness. So one week. Eggsy will wait one week to the bleeding day after Harry gets home before spilling the beans. Not one day more, not one day less, or he'll loose his nerve and go mad with second-guessing himself.  
  
"Morning, bruv," he says cheerfully when he walks into Harry's room. "How you feeling?"  
  
"Still rather worse for wear, I'm afraid," Harry says. His voice is normal again, but his eye is closed and he doesn't turn towards Eggsy. The set of his mouth is grim.  
  
"What can I do for you?" Eggsy asks.  
  
Harry just shakes his head.  
  
Shit. Shit, fuck, hell, piss it. Harry must remember. Christ.  
  
Eggsy wants to draw him from his thoughts, but doesn't know what to say. He doesn't want to say anything about Kentucky on the off chance that Harry's not already thinking about it, and because even if he is that's also not a conversation to have when his health is still delicate.  
  
But what can he say? If he says something too off-topic--- asks how long before Harry's discharged, or if Merlin's come by yet today--- Harry will know he's trying to change the subject, and God only knows how he'll react. Eggsy wants to say something. . . something. . . something _nice_. Wants Harry to think good thoughts, instead of bad things. Wants some kind of positive memory for him to dwell on, instead of the others.  
  
"You saved my mum and sister, you know," is what falls out of Eggsy's mouth.  
  
For a moment Harry doesn't respond, but then his nose wrinkles and he says, "And how on earth did I manage that? I've never met your sister, and met your mother only once--- and not under the best circumstances, I might add."  
  
"True that," says Eggsy. What he's about to say is either a really good idea or a really, really bad one. "But on V-Day, we knew what were gonna happen with them SIM cards. I had Roxy call my mum and make her lock Daisy in the loo before anything happened. My mum went through the door with a butcher knife, but it slowed her down enough that she didn't hurt the baby before Merlin and I stopped it. And that wouldn't have happened if you hadn't nominated me, Harry. I'd have been there that day, and none of us any the wiser for what were going to happen--- I'd have killed them both."  
  
He means to go on, to say again it's because of Harry that the unthinkable didn't happen, but his throat closes and he finds he has a hard time breathing. He's not looking at Harry anymore, and can't bring himself to move.  
  
"My dear boy," Harry whispers. Eggsy turns to him to find Harry's eye on him, his hand moving on the covers like he's trying to reach out. When Eggsy puts his own hand on the covers next to Harry's, Harry does indeed move his hand till his fingers are over Eggsy's. "I had no part in that."  
  
Eggsy shakes his head. "There ain't no way around it, bruv. There ain't no other chain of events what leads to me being in Kingsman, and but for that everything would be different."  
  
Harry looks at him a bit more, then says, "Perhaps."  
  
"Definitely," Eggsy says, and Harry cracks a smile. It hits Eggsy like a solid punch to the chest but he smiles back anyway.  
  
"Right," says Eggsy. "When you getting sprung from this joint?"  
  
Harry huffs a voiceless chuckle. "They say likely another two or three days for observation, and to make sure I'm getting my strength back quickly enough. Then I'll be able to go home, though unfortunately I'll still be mostly bedridden."  
  
And then one more week, Eggsy thinks. Ten days, and then I'm going to tell the truth, for once in my miserable life. Harry's fingers are still covering his own.  
  
"That's good," Eggsy says. "Bedridden means you're less likely to get into trouble."  
  
When Harry glares at him, Eggsy can't help but laugh. It feels like falling all over again.  


* * *

  
Eggsy spends the two days Harry's in medical at HQ. He hasn't been training enough lately, what with everything that's been going on, and he's getting out of shape. And there's no telling what the next few weeks will hold--- playing nursemaid, or binge drinking his sorrows away, or (please Jesus) loads of sex, or awkward looks and non-conversations--- so he spends every moment he's not with Harry making up for whatever's coming. He sees Harry two or three times a day, eats his meals in his room with him, and spends the first day swimming laps and running the obstacle course, and the second day pounding every machine in the gym till he's a wet shaking mess.  
  
The third day he takes out his nerves on a punching bag, then shows up at Harry's room freshly showered and combed ten minutes before he's supposed to be discharged. He's no idea how it was decided that he was going to be the one to take Harry home, but it's what everyone's assumed and he won't disagree.  
  
"Almost ready?" he asks, leaning on the doorjamb. Merlin looks up from where he's showing Harry something on his tablet and smiles. It's the easiest, most relaxed smile he's ever seen on Merlin's face. Eggsy grins helplessly back.  
  
"Very nearly," says Harry. The bandages on his head have been narrowed down to one square of gauze the size of Eggsy's hand, covering his right eye and forehead. He's dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed and jabbing away angrily at Merlin's tablet. Eggsy's heart near cracks from his overwhelming fondness for the man. "None of these," Harry says to Merlin, pointing to something on the tablet. "Something like this, only perhaps further down on the left."  
  
Merlin walks them all the way to the train, talking about nothing in particular, and Eggsy's reminded all over again that Harry is Merlin's best friend. He's spent so long caught up in his own grief over everything he didn't have anything to spare to feel bad for Merlin. Now he imagines what it would be like for Ryan to come back, and when they get to the train he turns to Merlin and says, "You want to come with?"  
  
Merlin smiles but shakes his head. "I've much to do, and I know Harry will be in good hands." And then he gives Eggsy this look, this completely indecipherable but very intent fucking look, and before Eggsy can so much as draw breath the door swishes shut between them and Merlin's gone.  
  
The trip back to Harry's is quiet. He doesn't stumble at all, though Eggsy's hard pressed to not wrap an arm about his waist on the pretext of helping him. He holds open the door to Harry's place and watches the man himself shuffle past him like he's about to collapse. Once they're inside Harry just stands there for a moment, blinking in the hallway, like this is as far as his plan went and now he doesn't know what to do.  
  
"Tea?" says Eggsy. "Or bed straight away?"  
  
After a moment Harry shakes himself a bit and says, "Tea, I think, and then a bit of a lie-down."  
  
Eggsy nods and heads to the kitchen. Harry trudges in after him, beelining for the kettle, but Eggsy puts a gentle hand on his shoulder and steers him towards the table. "Nah, bruv, I gots it," he says.  
  
Harry sits quietly while Eggsy goes about making tea, and when he's got a steaming mug of chamomile in front of him he says, "I don't recall showing you where all this was, Eggsy."  
  
Despite his best efforts, Eggsy feels his face heat. He looks at the table, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah," he says. "'Bout that. I, um. I may have stayed here a few days after V-Day. I didn't think you'd mind, swear down." Also Harry had been dead at the time, so Eggsy also thought he'd never _find out_.  
  
"Shite," he says, raising his head. "Think I probably left some things scattered about--- left a few things in the guest room, definitely. I'll grab them before I leave. Sorry, bruv," he starts, but Harry's already shaking his head.  
  
"It's perfectly all right," says Harry. "Please don't bother yourself. You can fetch them later if they're important."  
  
"Yeah," Eggsy says, his throat tight. Maybe he doesn't have to be quite so worried about that talk he's going to have with Harry in a week. "Okay."  
  
They don't talk much more, and by the time their tea's gone Harry's fading fast. Eggsy walks him upstairs, because creepy or not he isn't risking Harry taking a tumble, and stops outside the door to Harry's bedroom. They stand and look at each other like they're fifteen and Harry's dad is on the other side of the door, and it's painfully awkward and wonderful all at once.  
  
"I'll come by tomorrow, yeah?" Eggsy says at last. "What time you want me here?"  
  
"Whenever you're free," Harry mumbles. He's so tired Eggsy wonders if he meant to say that at all. "Perhaps you could stay for dinner."  
  
"Okay," Eggsy says, and won't let himself say anything else. Couldn't get rid of the blinding smile if he tried, though, so he doesn't bother attempting it.  
  
Tomorrow, Eggsy thinks. Dinner tomorrow. He's not sure how he'll live till then.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

And he doesn't look a thing like Jesus, but he  
Talks like a gentleman  
Like you imagined when you  
Were young  
You sit there in your heartache  
Waiting on some beautiful boy to  
To save you from your old ways  
[- _When You Were Young_ , The Killers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ff0oWESdmH0)  
  


* * *

  
Eggsy makes it till two in the afternoon before he gives up trying to be patient and goes to Harry's. Fortunately, Harry's clearly pleased to see him, so he doesn't feel too bad showing up so early.  
  
They kick about for a few hours, Harry teaching him how to deduce a person's ideal cup of tea just by looking at them, watching reruns of Eastenders, talking about Eggsy's training and steadfastly not mentioning anything that happened after Harry left. There's not a lot to tell; Kingsman picks up where other intelligence agencies leave off, and the world is in such chaos after V-Day there's not much they can do. Things have to settle, first, people have to deal with their own problems before Kingsman can step in and take care of whatever is beyond anyone else. So for right now it's mostly gathering intel and research, research, research. They're keeping their eyes on any situations they find that are likely to go bad and stay that way, and hoarding any knowledge they can get their hands on that might be useful later. Eggsy simply mentions that he's been on two missions since V-Day and other than that has done mostly research and leaves it at that.  
  
All the while, Eggsy does his best to keep Harry seated and Harry does his best to pretend he was never hurt at all, and by the time they order dinner he's neither worn out nor irate.  
  
But they're falling into old habits. Eggsy can feel the patterns of behavior settling in around him. They're acting like they did before Harry left, and Eggsy knows that once they get set in these ways again, it'll be hard to break out of them. And now he's second-guessing himself; wants to maybe throw in the towel and have that talk with Harry _tonight_ , before they get too confined by a new 'normal.' But all his reasons for not doing that are still valid: Harry has been home for less than twenty-four hours after being killed in another country; he just woke up from a coma a few days ago and, though he's recovering much faster than Eggsy would have thought, he's still weak. But on the other hand---  
  
"Shall we have some music?" Harry asks as they carry dinner into the kitchen.  
  
Eggsy's laying the takeaway bags on the worktop and fetching plates and forks and all and nods absently. Before Harry can reach the radio though, Eggsy grins, turns around, and says, "Tell me--- do you care for music, Inspector Hart?"  
  
Harry looks at him quizzically. Eggsy raises his eyebrows in challenge. Eventually Harry rolls his eye and says, "I've not the faintest."  
  
Eggsy laughs. "We got to expand your tastes, bruv. V for Vendetta is the best movie _ever_."  
  
"Isn't that the futuristic one with the comic-book action sequences?"  
  
"Yeah," Eggsy laughs again. "Trust you to remember that bit. You probably wouldn't agree much with the politics of it neither. But it's a smart movie, and it's got classical music and all."  
  
Harry rolls his eye again. "If you say so. I suppose I'll have to see it one day." Eggsy wonders if, when he does watch it (because he knows Harry will), he'll see how like V and Evey they are.  
  
Christ. What a thought.  
  
Then Harry turns on the radio and nearly covers his ears. "Good lord," he says, hastily turning down the volume on what Eggsy privately thinks of as Selena Gomez's Subdrop Song, "what on _earth_ is this bollocks?"  
  
If he looks at Eggsy, Eggsy doesn't know. He's too busy scooping up their plates and beating a hasty retreat to the dining room and pretending not to hear. Because, of course, the only person who would have changed the radio dial from the classic rock station it was normally kept on to a decades top hits station was Eggsy. And Eggsy remembers doing it--- remembers very fucking clearly what he listened to, and how he turned up the volume high as it would go, and--- he remembers that he turned the radio off and didn't touch it again, and realizes he ought to have at least turned the volume down before he lost his bleeding mind.  
  
Harry follows him into the dining room carrying two bottles of lager, and Eggsy jumps. Is actually startled when he walks through the door. Because there was a gunshot, he saw it, watched with his own two eyes through _Harry's_ own two eyes as that gun was aimed at him and fired, and as everything went blurry and then showed only the incredible blue of the Kentucky sky, like it was the view Harry's soul got as it ascended away from this mortal plane.  
  
Fuck this. Fuck everything. Eggsy's doing it tonight.  
  
If Harry sees him jump he doesn't comment on it, and they eat mostly in silence, only remarking occasionally on the food or the music (classic rock, like it should be). Soon they're sitting there in companionable silence, food mostly gone, sipping their drinks and just relaxing.  
  
"Harry," Eggsy starts, before he can loose his nerve.  
  
"Mmm?" When Eggsy doesn't answer Harry glances up at him, looking confused, his one visible eyebrow pulling down. The gauze is still covering his right eye from cheekbone to the middle of his forehead.  
  
"I were wondering if I could talk to you about summat," Eggsy says. He's no idea where to start. There's so much he wants to say, but he won't let himself say most of it. And fuck that, he doesn't even want to say anything; mostly he wants to just fuck Harry stupid and wait till tomorrow to speak at all.  
  
Harry waits a moment, and when Eggsy doesn't continue he motions him to go on and says, "Anything, of course, my dear boy."  
  
"It's just," Eggsy begins. He fidgets in his seat, pushes what's left of his dinner around his plate, looks at Harry, looks away. And when he looks away he looks through the doorway to the kitchen, and thinks of how many times he sat here before, when he was so sure this could never, ever happen.  
  
"Look," Eggsy says, leaning forward and looking at Harry intently. "There ain't no point pussyfooting around what happened. I thought you was dead, Harry. No, I didn't just _think_ it--- I _knew_ you was dead and gone. I fucking mourned you, Harry Hart.  
  
"And the thing is," he continues before Harry can interrupt, "it turns out there ain't nothing like death to make you see everything real fucking clear and all. And I'll tell you what I seen, Harry: this thing what we've got between us, it ain't small, and it ain't going away. 'Least not on my end it ain't. I ain't never been happier about nothing than I am that you came back, Harry. But it don't seem right, being given a second chance like this and never telling you how much I--- how much---"  
  
And here he stops, because no matter what Eggsy wants, he'll never tell Harry he loves him.  
  
Harry looks more and more upset throughout this little speech. His expression remains mostly the same, but Eggsy can read the man like a fucking book. The corners of his mouth are turned down, and the eye Eggsy can see is huge, and pleading, and---- Jesus Christ, possibly a bit teary. But Harry doesn't look _pleased_ , exactly; he looks more sad and regretful and very, very grim.  
  
"Eggsy," Harry says, his voice firm. "My dear boy, much as I appreciate what you're saying, you must know there can never be anything between us."  
  
Eggsy's always been smart. He's been in some damn tight places before and talked his way out. Add to that all the months he's had studying Kingsman-level psychology and negotiation techniques, and he very nearly lets out a breath of relief. Because the only way he'll be convinced to drop this is if Harry outright says he isn't attracted to Eggsy, which any fool could see he is. So long as he only brings up anything other than that, Eggsy's got this.  
  
"And why not?" Eggsy asks calmly.  
  
Harry sighs explosively, like Eggsy's purposely being annoying. Which, to be fair, he kind of is. At least it's broke the solemn feel of the whole thing. "There are dozens of good reasons."  
  
"Hundreds," Eggsy laughs. "Pick your favorite."  
  
"I'm nearly thirty years your senior," Harry fires back.  
  
Right. He's got decades on Eggsy when it comes to negotiation techniques and all. It still doesn't matter, though, because Eggsy is _right_.  
  
"Yep," Eggsy says. "Well spotted. Should I say something obvious now, too?"  
  
Harry looks about ready to hit the table in frustration. "Eggsy, I am old enough to be your father. In actuality, I am older than your father. By the time you're my age, I'll be the same age as the late Arthur."  
  
Eggsy resolutely does not flinch at the mention of the first person he killed in cold blood. "That's true," says Eggsy, because there's no use denying it. "And I could walk out the door tomorrow and get killed on a mission, so by the time you're that age you could have lived decades longer than me. All the more reason to live while we're alive, if you ask me." He doesn't say he's sure Harry will still be dead sexy at seventy, at eighty, at ninety. No point letting Harry know he dreams that far ahead.  
  
"I'm in a position of authority over you," Harry snaps.  
  
"Well, _technically_ , I ain't sure that's true. You ain't my sponsor no more, Harry. I'm a fully knighted member of Kingsman, now. On paper we're equals. Ain't no denying you're smarter than me, and more experienced than me, and that I respect the shit out of you. But you can't honestly think I'm too stupid to not tell you to go to hell if I need to."  
  
"Kingsman regulations---"  
  
"Were drawn up with the knowledge that they were regulating living, breathing human beings. Organization like this, fraternization's bound to happen. There ain't nothing in the regs prevents this so long as we let Merlin and the next Arthur know about it. And there ain't no way Merlin won't find out anyway, so. Next."  
  
Harry blinks. "When did you look into the regulations?"  
  
Eggsy laughs, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Er, right during the second week of training, me and Roxy--- the new Lancelot, you remember her? She and I looked them up."  
  
"I see," says Harry in a tone that makes what he thinks he's seeing very clear indeed.  
  
"Aw, don't look like that, bruv," Eggsy says. "Weren't each other we was looking them up for anyways. Roxy's aces, but she and I ain't never gonna be like that."  
  
"Well, regardless," Harry says, waving it away and leaning forward earnestly. "I understand what it's like to lose someone, Eggsy, believe me when I say I do. I can barely imagine what it must be like for them to suddenly return. You're confused, my dear boy. It's perfectly natural that---"  
  
Eggsy shakes his head. "Rox and me looked up the regulations 'cause I were wondering if I'd ever have a shot with _you_ , Harry."  
  
That shuts him up. His eyebrow makes a break for his hairline; his mouth even falls open. Eggsy just looks at him, steady and sure and as pigheaded stubborn as he knows how to be.  
  
"You said you looked them up during your second week of training," says Harry. "That was barely a fortnight after we'd first met."  
  
"Yeah," says Eggsy. "I know. And the reason Rox and me ain't never gonna be like that is because I were already that hung up on you before I even met her."  
  
"Eggsy---" Harry starts, but this time he doesn't sound frustrated.  
  
"Look," Eggsy says, pushing his chair back and coming to stand next to Harry. He's not sure if Harry stays in his seat because he's stunned or because he's too tired to do anything else. "You're right, there are dozens of reasons not to do this. Hundreds. Thousands, even. But _everyone's_ got a million reasons they shouldn't get together with no one. If we all started listening to even half of them, the human race would be gone in a generation, no Valentine required." Harry flinches at the name, but his gaze holds steady and he doesn't interrupt. "You think I ain't agonized over everything that could go wrong? Over all the reasons this'll never work? I been waiting and waiting for this to go away, or for me to get over it, since the day I bleeding met you, Harry Hart. If it were just a phase I'd have got through it by now. If I were just confused, I'd have got straightened out a long while back. But that ain't what's going on here."  
  
He's very close, now, so close that he can feel Harry's warmth on his stomach. He doesn't even realize what he's doing when he reaches out and touches his fingertips to Harry's cheek. His skin is warm. And Harry---  
  
\----barely, oh-so-softly, just barely leans into the touch.  
  
Game, set, match.  
  
Trying to look serious for one more moment Eggsy says, "There were just the one thing I couldn't find no solution to."  
  
And oh, Harry does look sad when he says it. "And what was that?" he asks, so quiet.  
  
With all the solemnity he can muster Eggsy says, "We got to make sure no one starts calling me by me real name, 'cause then we'd be Harry and Gary, and just no."  
  
Harry laughs. He _laughs_ , his eye sparkling with happiness, his hand coming up to press Eggsy's against his cheek. Eggsy smiles, a helpless smile, so wide it's probably frightening. Harry's grinning hugely, too, and Eggsy leans down and tastes that gorgeous smile, kisses it right off his lips, and then he's laughing too and it's messy but neither of them care and Jesus Christ, if Eggsy doesn't get some part of himself on Harry's dick now he is legitimately going to die.  
  
He breaks away to say something about this, but with a noise like nothing he's ever heard Harry surges up, stands from his chair, and wraps his arms around Eggsy, fingers clutching his shirt like he thinks he'll vanish otherwise.  
  
Harry's taller than him, but thinner, too. His shoulders are nearly as broad as Eggsy's, but his waist is tiny and his legs are spindly. It's perfect. His head tips up and Harry's tips down, Harry's body enveloped in Eggsy's arms and pulled into the shelter of his chest and Christ, _Christ_ , it's too much.  
  
"Bed," Eggsy gasps between bites to Harry's perfect lips, "bed _now_."  
  
For some unfathomable reason, that seems to throw a bucket of cold water over Harry. He uses his grip on Eggsy's hair to pull their mouths apart and frowns down at him. "I'm afraid, my dear, that I'm not supposed to engage in strenuous physical activity---"  
  
"Right, Christ, forgot," Eggsy says, darting forward and latching on to his neck instead, getting one hand around a delicious palmful of Harry's arse. He groans with how perfect it is.  
  
"Eggsy---" Harry sounds like he can't decide if he wants to say stop or more.  
  
"No gymnastics today, I get it, but it won't be too strenuous for you to lay back and let me blow you, Harry," Eggsy says in a rush against his neck.  
  
Harry goes completely still again, but Eggsy doesn't have to worry long before Harry's pushing at him and saying, "The couch is closer."  
  
Eggsy laughs, and trips when he tries to back up, but the blood is pounding in his ears and he listens to it, lets it pace him like the good stripper anthem it is. He shakes Harry's hands off him and Harry looks bereft--- but then Eggsy catches his eye and grins the most _lecherous_ grin in his arsenal.  
  
Harry swallows.  
  
Eggsy takes a step back and undoes his tie. Sliiiiiiiides it out from beneath his collar and wraps it around his fist. Takes another step back; untucks his shirt from his trousers, undoes the bottom three buttons. He times it perfectly: he reaches the doorway and turns away to walk through, and at the same time raises his arms over his head and pulls his shirt and undershirt off in one rolling motion, exposing the line of his back and emphasizing the curve of his arse. He drops a grin and a wink over his shoulder and saunters out of the room.  
  
Harry flushes to the roots of his hair.  
  
Eggsy darts to where his coat is hanging by the door and fishes out his wallet. Apparently Harry is still rooted to the floor with lust, because Eggsy doesn't hear footsteps until he's almost back into the living room. Just before Harry catches him up Eggsy turns around, and as Harry's hands slide over his bare flanks, Eggsy flips the tie over his head and uses it to pull Harry with him as he backs towards the couch. Harry's hands are like fire on his skin.  
  
At the last moment Eggsy doesn't kiss him, instead turns an inch to bite at the line of jaw. Harry's breath hitches. They reach the couch and Eggsy opens his eyes, stops the frantic rush long enough to not shove Harry down--- because no way is he ruining this by jostling Harry's head and hurting him--- but Harry nearly collapses on the couch, dragging Eggsy down with him. Eggsy laughs and Harry does too--- Eggsy holds himself above Harry, one knee on the couch and one foot on the floor, kissing him desperately while he works on Harry's buttons. He would just rip his shirt open, but no matter how great his upper body strength is, he's no match for Kingsman tailoring.  
  
Fortunately there's not that many buttons, and as soon as he can run his hands over Harry's chest to push his shirt aside. Eggsy leaves his mouth, biting at his jaw, then his neck, then down his chest and stomach and Jesus his skin is so soft---  
  
Harry's got one hand in his hair and one hand running over any bit of his skin he can reach. They're at an awkward angle, though, and Eggsy wants this to be wonderful but quick because, still, he doesn't want to risk Harry's blood-pressure giving him a stroke or something.  
  
Though, to be fair, death by stroking out during a blowjob is probably a good way to go.  
  
He flinches. Christ, even his own jokes are too soon.  
  
"Up, up, up," Eggsy chants, tugging at Harry's legs. They twist and turn until Harry's fully reclining, his left leg bent and pressed against the back of the couch, his right foot braced on the floor. Eggsy shoves a pillow behind that precious, injured head and Harry makes impatient noises at him but then he gets his hands on Harry's trousers, and, God, Harry's so hard it's actually difficult for Eggsy to undo his flies, but once he manages it Harry lets out a groan like he's going to come right then and then Eggsy almost jizzes his pants like a teenager.  
  
He manages to stave it off, diving for his wallet on the floor and scrambling for a condom. Harry starts pawing at his own trousers, trying to shove them down, and by the time Eggsy's got the condom out his trousers are just barely far enough down to not be holding his cock, but his legs are still spread.  
  
Aware his grin is completely wicked, Eggsy surges over him, kisses him on the mouth _desperately_ , and then holds his eye as he slides down and settles between Harry's spread thighs. Harry's eye is wide, the iris almost completely black in blown-away arousal, as Eggsy mouths him through his pants. He opens his mouth wide and nuzzles lower, blowing hot breath on Harry's bollocks, and Harry's hands white-knuckle on the back of the couch and his own thigh.  
  
Eggsy undoes the buttons on his pants and _finally_ gets his hands on Harry Hart's cock. It is, of course, perfect. As expected. Much as he'd like to draw this out, though, Eggsy really doesn't want to do Harry any lasting damage, so he doesn't stop to tease and admire. Without further ado he pops the condom in his mouth, uses his right hand to hook Harry's leg over his shoulder, then wraps his left hand around the base of Harry's cock and slides his mouth down as far as he can.  
  
Despite his best efforts, Eggsy does have a gag reflex, and Harry is a big boy, but he manages a good amount anyway. He's never liked the taste of latex, but the feel of Harry, big and hot and _hard_ , filling up his mouth, Jesus fuck, Eggsy's never felt anything so good. Harry's keening and hissing through his teeth above him, and Eggsy hollows his cheeks and starts bobbing up and down, fluttering his tongue, sucking rhythmically, and basically doing everything he can think of to make Harry come as soon as possible. More even than the fact that he doesn't want this to go on for too long because of Harry's head, there's also the fact that Eggsy needs to feel and see and hear Harry come _now_.  
  
Harry holds out for an impressively long time--- judging by the ache in Eggsy's jaw it's been two minutes at least--- and the flush is leaking down onto his chest. It's the sexiest damn thing Eggsy's ever seen. Eggsy grins around the taste of latex and moves his hand from where he was holding Harry's cock--- Harry doesn't have enough leverage to thrust and choke him, even accidentally--- and he works his hand inside Harry's trousers, palm up. It's a terrible angle and he won't be able to hold it long, but he probably won't have to. He gropes around over Harry's pants and around his balls for a moment before---  
  
All at once Eggsy goes down as far as he can, swallows, presses Harry's bollocks in his palm, and hooks his fingers to press up hard behind Harry's bollocks---  
  
Harry's abs go taut as he curls over and comes with a shout. One hand fists in Eggsy's hair. Eggsy rolls his hand and bobs his head and milks him through it, still hating the taste of latex but _loving_ the feeling of Harry's cock throbbing and the little flutters at the tip of the condom that are Harry's come filling it up.  
  
He lays off Harry's cock with a nasty slurp when Harry makes a pained noise at the overstimulation. Harry collapses backwards, boneless, and Eggsy's so hard it's actually painful. He's distantly astounded he didn't just come in his pants, but frankly his trousers are tailored so tight he thinks they're physically preventing him.  
  
He kneels up over Harry and fumbles with his fly, and Harry opens his eye and starts pawing at him, tugging his pants and trousers down and Eggsy's cock springs free and he starts fisting himself without a thought for putting on a show because he's got to come or he's going to fucking pass out.  
  
"Can I--- can I--- please---" he begs.  
  
Harry clearly gets what he's saying, because he's tugging on Eggsy's hips and saying, "Yes, yes, yes, _Eggsy_ \---"  
  
And looking down at the full condom gleaming over Harry's softening cock and hearing Harry say his name in that completely wrecked voice is all it takes and Eggsy comes all over Harry's stomach.  
  
He shakes through it, shoulders hunching, bucking and painting Harry with white. When it stops he's still shaking, and he doesn't want to hurt Harry but he also kind of can't really move, and then Harry grabs his shoulders and _pulls_ and Eggsy collapses on him anyway.  
  
Twenty-four hours ago--- Jesus, twenty-four _minutes_ ago--- Eggsy wasn't sure he'd ever get to find out what Harry's lips tasted like. Wasn't sure he'd ever know more of Harry's skin than he did just from shaking the man's hand once or twice. And now--- God, Christ, shit, he's lying here and feeling Harry's _skin_ , feeling his soft prick and used condom, feeling his own come going tacky between Harry's stomach and his own, feeling the heat of Harry through the suit that never made it all the way off his arms or legs, feeling the delicate scritch of the roots of his slightly oily hair where Eggsy's rubbing his fingertips against Harry's scalp, feeling his deep and sometimes hitching breaths, feeling his goddamn miraculous _heartbeat_. It's like---  
  
Nope. There's no comparison. Nothing has ever, ever been like this.  
  
Eggsy lays there with his forehead pressed to Harry's cheek and just tries to get used to it, and judging from the way Harry's breathing is still erratic and the way his hands alternate between wandering and clinging, Harry's likely doing much the same. At last, though, Eggsy's hand gets tired where he's still petting Harry's hair like he's a goddamn cat, and he remembers that this fragile skull he's cradling is the reason so much of this happened. Miraculous return (and even more miraculous sex) or not, Harry's still hurt.  
  
He starts shifting to get up, slowly disentangling himself, and Harry goes completely still beneath him. His eye is closed. It looks like he's barely breathing. Even as he tells himself not to, Eggsy starts pressing tiny kisses to the line of Harry's jaw as he works himself up. Harry doesn't move for a moment, and then all at once he turns and kisses Eggsy desperately, one hand coming up to hold his head in place.  
  
Eggsy kisses him and kisses him, and pulls back, and then kisses him again just because he can. Finally, he says, "Up, come on, bed."  
  
Harry huffs a laugh against his lips, then consents to be cleaned a bit with a tissue and pulled to his feet. It's not till he's standing that he looks down, and Eggsy just about falls over laughing at his little moue of utter _disgust_ when he sees the state of himself.  
  
Harry levels a glare at him, then runs a pointed eye up and down Eggsy's body. All at once Eggsy's not laughing anymore.  
  
"How is it," Harry says, managing to sound exasperated and fond and frustrated all at once, "that you still look perfectly delectable, while I look like a drunken slob?"  
  
That sets Eggsy to laughing again. He gestures down at his stomach and says, "Um, don't know if you've noticed, bruv, but I ain't exactly escaped unscathed."  
  
Harry's eye hasn't moved from about the level of his navel, and now it darkens. "I noticed. Though I must say, I think the decorations only serve to make you more attractive."  
  
It takes a moment for Eggsy's stunned brain to repeat that a few times and figure out that yes, Harry really is saying Eggsy looks hot with his own come drying on his abs, and then another moment of gawping like a fish before he can gasp, "Christ, Harry, you really are one dirty fucker."  
  
"Is that going to be a problem?" There's a smile on Harry's lips, but he straightens and looks Eggsy right in the eye and clenches his jaw as he says it.  
  
Without missing a beat Eggsy says, " _fuck_ no," and steps forward to wind his arms around Harry again. He makes a point of running his hands over Harry's crusty stomach as he folds him in his arms, and Harry barely chuckles against his lips.  
  
They kiss and kiss and Eggsy could die now and it'd be fine because it'd be like no death he ever dreamed of: he'd die _happy_.  
  
"Bed," he whispers again. Harry keeps kissing him, but eventually Eggsy's so happy he starts laughing and can't stop, and Harry pulls away and looks down at him, and he's not laughing but he is smiling, and he looks so _fond_ that Eggsy's poor heart can't fucking take it.  
  


 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

You're falling now. You're swimming. This is not  
     harmless. You are not  
         breathing.  
[- _Crush_ , Richard Siken](https://www.amazon.com/Crush-Younger-Poets-Richard-Siken/dp/0300107897)  
  
Why is the deadliest sin - to love as I loved you?  
[- _Bless the Child_ , Nightwish  
](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gSohqju69GY)

* * *

  
Somehow, eventually, they get upstairs. While Harry's using the loo (and yes, he does close the door; and yes, Eggsy does strain to hear everything over the water he leaves running, because like hell is he going to live the rest of his life knowing Harry slipped and hurt himself and Eggsy wasn't paying attention), Eggsy pulls out his phone. He texts Jamal, as is their nightly ritual. Texts his mum goodnight, which is code for 'I'm not coming home tonight' that also doesn't leave her room to yell at him for worrying her. Then he texts much the same thing to Roxy for pretty much the same reason.  
  
He's daydreaming when Harry comes out of the loo in dark blue silk pajamas. "Jesus, bruv," he blurts out without thinking, "I know you're the one what got shot in the head, but I'm pretty sure I'M the one's going to stroke out, here." Harry snaps to face him, surprised to the point of looking gobsmacked, but then the startlement on his face melts into a delighted smile, and yeah, Eggsy's in so much deeper than he fucking realized. Also, he thinks to himself, more compliments. Particularly ones pertaining to Harry's looks. Lots and lots and lots of compliments.  
  
Harry turns away to hang his suit, acting cool and collected and not at all like the tips of his ears are pink, and says over his shoulder, "If you don't have any pajamas here, feel free to use some of mine."  
  
Eggsy's glad Harry isn't looking at him. "Nah, bruv, I gots it covered. Thanks, though," he remembers to say as he goes to the guest room. He intends to never tell Harry that a few days after V-Day Eggsy tried it: slept in Harry's pajamas in Harry's bed. That--- did not end well. To the point where he's pretty sure that even if this lasts more than a few weeks, if he ever wears Harry's pajamas to bed, they're going to have to buy new ones first.  
  
When he finally comes out of the loo (in boxers and an old t-shirt, because he's still warring with himself between no-sex-Harry's-hurt and I-get-to-have-sex-with-Harry-let's-never-do-anything-else-ever), he finds the bedside lamp on and Harry dozing against the headboard. He clearly meant to stay awake, and it's also clearly a loosing battle.  
  
"Come on," Eggsy whispers, slipping under the covers beside him and reaching over him to turn off the lamp. "C'mere."  
  
Harry blinks at him for a moment, then says, "I'm sorry, Eggsy, I meant---"  
  
Eggsy touches his face and kisses him. Harry seems about ready to try and start something, but--- Fuck, Harry's falling asleep as it is, and he just came half an hour ago when they probably shouldn't have even done as much as they did, and he woke from a _coma_ less than a week ago. Eggsy is capable of being an adult. He really is. So instead he draws Harry down and kisses away his protests, then wraps him in his arms and settles back into the pillows.  
  
Harry won't lay on his chest, claims it'll get too uncomfortable for Eggsy, but they end up on the same pillow, noses inches apart, breathing each other's air. Harry's out almost immediately. Eggsy's fine with that. He lays there and stares, and stares, and stares, and thinks he's never been more afraid.

* * *

  
Eggsy knew Harry would fall asleep before he did. It's still early, for one thing, and for another Eggsy's been succumbing to insomnia more nights than not for the last few months. One day of perfect happiness (and a really good orgasm) isn't enough to break a habit that ingrained. So he knew he'd be up a bit longer than Harry.  
  
Thing was, he kind of expected to be asleep before now. By eleven maybe; definitely by midnight. He did not at all expect to still be wide awake at  _four_ _in the goddamn morning_.  
  
Mostly he doesn't even mind, and that's the worst part. The longer he's awake the more time he has to look at Harry. The man's barely moved in the last six hours, and Eggsy's got training on top of natural talent that lets him memorize things a lot more complex than the sight in front of him in a matter of seconds.  
  
All the same he stares, and stares, and stares.  
  
He's surveying Harry like a battlefield, he realizes somewhere in the deep of the night. And he can't help it; in a lot of ways, that's what this is. Go in, determine what must be done in order to achieve the target, do those things, achieve target, get out. Simple.  
  
It would be a fuckton simpler, though, if Eggsy knew what the goddamn target was.  
  
That's the biggest problem here, he realizes. He's got like half a dozen mutually exclusive targets, and as of right now he's going after all of them. It'll tear him apart, going that headlong in that many different directions. He's got to prioritize.  
  
What does he want most? Short answer: he wants Harry. Long answer: he wants to have Harry in every way it's possible for one human being to have another. He wants to fuck him, he wants to be fucked by him, he wants to be Harry's emergency contact, he wants to hear Daisy learn how to say Harry's name, he wants to mutter 'traitor' when it becomes obvious that Harry is Jamal's favorite. He wants to know that whether he's awake all night or sleeps like a log, it'll be beside Harry. He wants to never _wonder_ about things again: where he's going to eat dinner tonight, whether or not anyone will be waiting for him when he gets back to HQ, where he'll be living in a decade or four, if someone'll take care of his mum and Daisy when he dies on a mission.  
  
More: when he does almost die on a mission, he wants Harry's face to flash before his eyes, and for the certainty of him to keep Eggsy alive. He wants, and oh _how_ he wants.  
  
Right. Target acquired: Harry Hart's eternal, undying devotion.  
  
Determine what must be done in order to achieve this target. Well. That's a bit more difficult. The easiest way would be to make Harry fall in love with him. That ain't bleeding likely, though. Harry is--- well. It isn't the age thing, isn't the money thing, isn't even the class thing. It's just---  
  
Harry's sleeping so peaceful. His face is kind of mashed into the pillow; he's going to have some spectacular bedhead when he wakes. Eggsy can't wait. His mouth is slightly open. He's probably drooling. His arm is bent, his hand on the mattress between them like he fell asleep halfway through reaching for Eggsy's beating heart. They forgot to close the drapes and there's faint moonlight and streetlights mingled falling across the lines and angles of him. Eggsy can't stop staring.  
  
Harry's smart, and he's strong, and he's bright as a beacon through a storm. He's fierce and proud and has a foul sense of humor; is the most gentlemanly person Eggsy's ever met and swears like it's nothing. He's polite to a fault, but never superior to anyone around him. He's been through hell and risen from the fucking dead.  
  
Eggsy could do it. He could. He knows he could. He could get Harry so wound around his little finger he wouldn't know which way was up. Eggsy's hot, and real good at fucking, and any sort of inhibitions or lines in the sand he may have been born with (precious few, admittedly) were soundly crushed years ago. He knows how to use his hands and throat and arse and words and eyes to get people drowning in him. Add to that everything he's learning at Kingsman, and fact of the matter is, if he likes Eggsy enough to give him even just an inch, Harry won't stand a chance.  
  
That isn't the most important fact, though. Light as he can, Eggsy traces one finger over the gauze still on Harry's face, down his nose, across his cheek, hovers over his lips to feel his breath. No, the most important fact of all is this:  
  
All the circumstances could be different--- Eggsy could be king of the world and the richest man who ever lived, could learn to be even more gentlemanly than Harry, and Harry could be poor and ninety years old and fuck ugly--- and nothing could ever change the fact that Harry is far too good for the likes of him.  
  
He wants Harry. Oh, how he wants. But that's not what he needs.  
  
Eggsy's certainly never _been_ in a healthy relationship, but he has seen a few of them. Mostly between people his own age, and most of them not in the Estate. (Mostly, really, the good relationships Eggsy's seen are really just the one ultimate good relationship, but he can't even think about them right now without feeling sick.) Really, most of them (bar the one) were while he was in the Marines, and he feels like even that makes all of them suspect. But he isn't stupid, and sometimes what isn't there reveals more than what is. He knows bits and pieces of what makes a good relationship. The kind of relationship that, if he's being honest with himself, he wants with Harry.  
  
And, if he's still being honest with himself, a lot of Eggsy's Relationship Goals come not from the good relationships he's seen, but from the _bad_ ones. He knows it's not enough to financially support someone (Dean did that, definitely, and there isn't any speculation about whether or not he was a good husband). It's not enough to be good together in bed. Eggsy's had that for sure, and it was never even kind of enough. It's not even enough to share a bed and a family and a house and a life. If he's in a relationship only for himself--- that is what will drag his everlasting soul to Hell.  
  
He's got to be in this for Harry. As he already decided, if Harry Hart deserves anything, it's kindness. And---  
  
And manipulating him into a relationship to keep him around for Eggsy's selfish pleasure when he _knows_ that Harry ought to be with someone better is not kindness.  
  
The thing is, he wants Harry, but he's coming to realize that what he _needs_ is for Harry to be happy. Especially after everything that's happened, he just really, really needs Harry to be happy. That's what he's got to be in this for. He'll do what he can to make it so.  
  
Right. Okay. He can deal with this. He's a Kingsman, for fucksake. He can do anything. Even something like this. Because fuck everything, this is _right_.  
  
So. Goal acquired: Harry Hart's eternal happiness.  
  
How to go about achieving said goal:  
  
Um.  
  
So--- Yeah, Eggsy's got no idea. And isn't that ironic and moronic all at once: he's arse over tits for Harry, and doesn't even know him well enough to know what will make him happy. What will make him smile like he hasn't a care in the world.  
  
. . .Which, again if he's being honest with himself, is how he's already smiled at Eggsy more than once today.  
  
Shit.  
  
It takes him a long, long time, but eventually he comes to another realization, no matter how hard it is to swallow: Harry wants him. If Eggsy ignores the voice in his head screaming that this is just wishful thinking, he can admit Harry's probably wanted him for a long while now. And after that speech Eggsy made earlier (today? Yesterday? Fuck it's late) he can't exactly take it all back. Doesn't _want_ to. Couldn't; Harry seems so pleased by everything, and Eggsy isn't about to take that away.  
  
He dozes, or maybe he dreams, but playing out in front of his eyes like some movie (a spy/action flick, definitely, with heavy-handed romantic subtext) is every single interaction Eggsy Unwin has ever had with Harry Hart.  
  
He wakes with a snort, and when he does it's still dark out, but the solution is clear as day: he'll do as Harry wants, as Harry _needs_. He'll do good by Harry. He'll build him up, help him understand what a good man he is. While he wants Eggsy he'll have him, and when he doesn't--- well. While they're together Eggsy will do his best to live for Harry and make him understand how much _more_ he's worth. And when he succeeds (and he will; Eggsy's never failed at anything he's actually set his mind to) and Harry realizes he can have more, that he deserves more, when Harry decides he _wants_ more--- Eggsy will step aside. No manipulations, no guilt, no hard feelings, no resistance. He'll never love anyone else, of course, but that was a done deal long before he saw the love of his life murdered before his eyes and a million miles away. This is already so much more than he ever dreamed of. Just this day would be enough to carry him through the rest of his life. More than this---  
  
Even knowing Harry will eventually leave him, Eggsy's happier than he's ever been.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Here is the repeated image of the lover destroyed.  
- _Crush_ , Richard Siken

 

* * *

 

  
Eggsy must sleep, because eventually he wakes. He's always been quick to wake up, even on days when he rolls over and goes straight back to sleep, and today is no exception. Whenever he allowed himself to think about it, he'd assumed Harry would be the same way: too many years of being a spy to do anything other than go from sleeping to fully alert in a split second. Maybe it's the head trauma or maybe it's something Eggsy won't look at too closely, but today he's treated to the sight of Harry coming awake slowly.  
  
When he does, he blinks at Eggsy a few times in confusion, and at first Eggsy thinks he's confused about why he's not alone. Then he realizes that Harry's probably confused by the fact that Eggsy is grinning so hard his face is likely to split.  
  
"Hey," he whispers, then nudges forward and kisses _those lips_. What cares he for morning breath when Harry Hart's _lips_ are on offer?  
  
And what cares he for breathing at all when he realizes that those lips actually _are_ on offer? It's like a miracle hat-trick: Harry's alive, Harry wants him, they had sex yesterday. And Harry's still alive and still wants him and _god_.  
  
Harry kisses him back, sleepy and warm and slightly sour; all kinds of things Eggsy never thought Harry would be. They both keep their mouths politely closed (gentlemen), but very soon Harry's got his arm about Eggsy's waist, and Eggsy's hand is combing through his hair. He foresees that becoming an addiction sometime soon, if it's not one already.  
  
After a little while, Eggsy feels a tentative nudge from Harry's knee. A pause, and then another nudge, to get his legs apart and Harry's knee between, and, yeah, he can get on board with that.  
  
"Wait," Eggsy says, leaving off Harry's mouth for a moment. He pulls back and Harry's eye is closed. The expression on his face is too many things for Eggsy to pinpoint one feeling, but none of them look good. "It's just," Eggsy says, then darts in for two quick kisses, because he can't help himself, "you know. TBI and all."  
  
"Excuse me, but I do _not_ have a traumatic brain injury," Harry says, opening his eye and huffing in affront. He's so adorable Eggsy feels his heart melting down the inside of his ribs.  
  
"Fine, whatever," Eggsy laughs. "Traumatic _skull_ injury, then. But still. No strenuous activity and all that."  
  
Harry pouts. Eggsy near dies of cute.  
  
Rather than dying, though, Eggsy laughs and kisses him some more. "Jesus," he says, still unable to do anything about the enormous smile on his face. He pulls back to look at Harry again, holding the side of his face and running his thumb over Harry's cheekbone, below the gauze. He wants to tell Harry that he's completely, utterly, devastatingly _adorable_ and the cutest fucking thing he's ever _seen_ , but that would probably make him feel less of a man, rather than more of one. Whether or not that's warranted is something that can be dealt with later. So Eggsy says the next best thing (that's still true) which is, "You are _so fucking hot_."  
  
That doesn't get the smile he was counting on or the blush he hoped for. Instead Harry seems to flinch into himself, become smaller, even though he doesn't move. His eye cuts away.  
  
"Hey," says Eggsy.  
  
For a moment he thinks Harry's going to make some bullshit excuse and get out of bed, but something stops him. He closes his eye for a moment, sighs--- but not sadly; more in exasperation. Then he catches Eggsy's eye and says, "Eggsy, while I appreciate what you're trying to do, I do wish you wouldn't."  
  
"What I'm trying to do?" Eggsy says. " _What_ am I trying to do?"  
  
Harry tilts a look at him, like he thinks Eggsy knows _exactly_ what he's doing. "Eggsy, my dear. While I appreciate that for some incomprehensible reason you find yourself drawn to me, that does not mean you need to conform to the usual script and pretend I'm something I'm not---"  
  
Gentleman or no, Eggsy's never had a problem interrupting Harry. This time he does it by kissing him.  
  
Eggsy pulls back and glares. "Shut up," he snaps.  
  
Harry blinks. "Excuse me?"  
  
"Shut up, I said." Eggsy kisses him again, then continues glaring and says, "You're lucky I kissed you 'stead of popping you in the gob, bruv. Ain't no one allowed to spread lies like that about my boyfriend. Not even you." And, because his lips against Harry's is fast becoming Eggsy's default state of being, he kisses him again, slow and sweet.  
  
"Eggsy," Harry breathes against his mouth, shaking his head. They look at each other again and Harry's hand comes up, draws Eggsy's hand away from his cheek. "Look at me," Harry says, motioning to the gauze over his eye.  
  
"Really?" Eggsy says, his eyebrows shooting up. "We're doing this right now? Seriously?"  
  
"Eggsy---"  
  
"Okay, yeah, fine." Eggsy bats Harry's hand away from himself, then rolls them until he's sprawled half on top of Harry, his weight mostly on his elbows, and takes Harry's face in his hands.  
  
"You listen to me, Harry Hart, because this is important." And it is--- Harry may not have any idea what Eggsy was up most of the night thinking about, but Eggsy's got a plan of action now, and Harry's playing right into his hands, giving him an opportunity like this. He doesn't want to fuck it up. "I've no idea what you see when you look in a mirror, but clearly your eyesight ain't very good. You are fit as fuck, Harry Hart. You're like that song, you know? Sweeter than heaven and hotter than hell. And yeah, okay, so you're going to have some wicked scars. Believe it or not, that just makes it better. And even if you weren't--- Jesus, Harry, you could go straight-up Vanilla Sky and everybody'd still be falling all over themselves to have a go at you. You're just--- there's just something about you that's sexier than _shite_."  
  
It's difficult to say, and it's difficult to stop saying. He wants to go on--- wants to tell Harry that he's basically the most perfect human ever created, mind and body--- but, again, he can't let on about that. He's got to convince Harry of the things that are objectively true, without letting on how Eggsy's subjectively crazy about him.  
  
Harry pulls him down and kisses him almost before he's done talking, and Eggsy knows Harry's only doing it to hide his face, but (as established) Eggsy will take what he can get.  
  
Soon, though, Eggsy forgets why they started kissing and thinks Harry does, too, because now they're kissing in earnest, like it _means_ something, and Harry's breaths are coming in sharp hot gasps against his cheek.  
  
Fortunately, his crotch is pressing into the mattress instead of Harry, so it's slightly easier than it would be otherwise for Eggsy to start trying to calm them down. Harry makes a sound that's half desperate and half angry against his lips and kisses him harder. Eggsy huffs a laugh. Because he's finding out how Harry expresses himself even when he's kissing, and that's yet another thing Eggsy never thought he'd get.  
  
"Come on," Eggsy whispers against Harry's jaw, nuzzling at him like a cat and unable to stop. He's in danger of purring if Harry keeps running his hands over his back like that.  
  
"Yes," Harry whispers, wrapping his arms around him tight.  
  
Eggsy laughs again, dizzy and delighted, against the skin of his throat. "Not what I meant," he says between nips. Then he pushes himself up on his hands, gives Harry his most charming grin, and says, "Time to get up! Let's go."  
  
'Surprised' is quick becoming Eggsy's favorite expression on Harry's face. "I ain't joking, bruv," he says. "We need to get to HQ."  
  
"Eggsy," Harry says, when Eggsy gives him one last kiss and rolls out of bed.  
  
"Yes, Harry?" Eggsy asks innocently.  
  
Harry sighs explosively and glares at him, clearly biting back a few choice remarks in hopes that not calling Eggsy a fucking brat will help his chances. "Come back to bed."  
  
"Nope," Eggsy says. Before Harry can protest he interrupts, standing at the foot of the bed with his hands on his hips, "I got to go in and take care of a few things, and I should probably hit the gym. We're both going to get our STI tests, and _you_ , sir, are going to talk to your doctor and get cleared for fucking 'strenuous activities' _today_."  
  
Harry stares at him for a moment. Then all at once he flings off the covers and tumbles out of bed and says, "Yes, well, that sounds like rather a good plan," and while they race through getting ready Eggsy just laughs and laughs and laughs.

"You want to tell Merlin?" Eggsy asks on the bullet train.  
  
Harry, sitting across from him and very obviously trying not to ogle him in his suit, casts him a glance. "No," he says.  
  
Eggsy chuckles. "No, I meant do you want to tell him yourself, because if you don't I will."  
  
Now Harry looks like he can't decide between anger and confusion. After a moment he simply asks, "Why?"  
  
Eggsy shrugs. "Because he's your best friend, bruv."  
  
Harry rolls his eye. "I meant why are you so determined he find out today?"  
  
"Oh," Eggsy says. "Well. Few things, really. One, he's got to find out anyway. Regulations, innit? And two, I do _not_ want to wake up tomorrow and find out that I've got some mission taking me to the arse-end of nowhere for the next month. I know I can't exactly beg off work entirely, but I'll have a word with him, see what he can do and all."  
  
"Eggsy," Harry sighs in exasperation _again_ , "much as I appreciate the gesture, I do not need a babysitter."  
  
"'Course not," Eggsy says. There's about a million things he'd like to say, starting with the fact that he wants to dig up some regulation loophole somewhere that'll mean he and Harry get to have all their missions and all their breaks together from now, and ending with the fact that just because Harry doesn't need a babysitter don't mean he should have to look after himself right now. There's really only a handful of things he can say, though, that stick to the battle plan, so what he goes with is: "I didn't shoot the dog, bruv. That should have clued you in I'd be like this. Besides, it's a good excuse for a bit of a sex holiday, innit?"  
  
Harry laughs, actually laughs, which sends Eggsy's heart over the moon. "Yes," he says, looking away and faintly pink, "I suppose it is."  
  
In the end Harry tells him to go to Merlin's office when he's done with everything else, and they can meet there. By the time Eggsy gets through everything else he has to do it's late afternoon, and he legs it to Merlin's fast as he can.  
  
Harry's clearly already told him, if the complicated smile Merlin gives him as soon as he comes in is any indication. He does say, though, that he'll keep Eggsy close to home a while longer. Eggsy could just about hug him.  
  
The three of them talk for a while, not about Eggsy and Harry's new Thing specifically, but it's there, behind what they're not saying. Merlin's happy for them, Eggsy decides. And when he and Harry leave, they go together.  
  
Eggsy's just about clawing out of his own skin by the time they get back to Harry's place--- and of course the bastard waits till they're walking up to the door to mention that his doctor still hasn't cleared him for strenuous activities.  
  
"You what?" Eggsy splutters. "I mean--- I, just, _what_?"  
  
Harry glances at him over his shoulder as he pushes open the front door. "No strenuous activities," he repeats, cool as a fucking cucumber. "Nothing too--- acrobatic. That being said, I am cleared for slightly less stressful activities."  
  
"Right, less stressful," Eggsy says, clomping into the hall after him. "And what's those, exactly?"  
  
"Well," Harry says, taking off his shoes (Eggsy doesn't even pretend he's not staring at his arse) and hanging his suit jacket in the closet, "for one thing, we're in the clear for blowjobs."  
  
"Thank Christ," Eggsy groans, and pounces. Harry laughs.  
  
Instead they end up trading handies against the front door, and when Harry comes Eggsy bites his throat, and when Eggsy comes Harry holds him up and Eggsy means to shout his name but he thinks he laughs instead.  
  
Harry's near falling over from exhaustion, so Eggsy pushes him onto the couch and then runs upstairs for his red robe. He gets him out of his clothes and into his robe without too much protest, and then they eat dinner at the table, feeding each other leftovers and fruit. It's Harry who starts it next, but Eggsy who finishes it when they're finally in bed, when he ducks under the sheets and Harry bites out a curse, and then Eggsy's finally got his mouth on Harry's dick again and Harry can barely speak. They don't have to rush this time, so Eggsy doesn't; he takes Harry apart slow and teasing, bringing him right to the brink and then hauling him back again and again. Eventually there's sweat rolling down Eggsy's face where he's wrapped around Harry and under the covers, and above him Harry sounds like he might be sobbing, and then Eggsy finally lets him and Harry comes and comes and _comes_.  
  
Eggsy comes, too, barely aware that he's going to until it happens, grabbing at his dick to stop himself from flying apart. Harry manages a jerk when Eggsy flings the covers back and gulps for air, flopping onto his back beside him. Harry turns towards him, makes an aborted move towards Eggsy's dick, but his eye's closed and he's panting like a racehorse. Maybe this actually wasn't the best idea.  
  
But Eggsy catches his hand and tugs him down, and then he and Harry are in much the same positions they were last night: heads on the same pillow, curled towards each other but barely touching. Harry mumbles something about "You, now, dear boy," but Eggsy's having none of it. He gets an arm round about Harry's shoulders and strokes his hair for a bit, and Harry's out like a light.  
  
It takes a little while to force himself to get up, but then he does, and cleans them both up as best he's able to without waking Harry. And while he does that he thinks to himself that he's going to have to stop _kissing_ Harry quite so goddamn much. Because there's something about it that's too affectionate, too romantic, too much--- too much like everything Eggsy's going to have to convince Harry this _isn't_.  
  
And, if he's being really bloody honest with himself, it's a bit for his own protection, as well. Fucking is one thing. Fucking--- hell, any kind of sex, blowies or handies or anything with skin an orgasms, really--- that's _fun_. That doesn't have to mean anything. It does, of course it does, this right here means the world to Eggsy, but it'll be easy enough to pretend it doesn't. Sex is easy. He can lie with sex. He's already good at that.  
  
Kissing, though--- that's too close. Add to that, he doesn't have near as much experience with kissing as he does with fucking. Before now he didn't even _like_ kissing; it was boring, and pointless if whoever he was kissing was going to fuck him anyway. The point is, though, that Eggsy can't lie as convincingly with a kiss as he can with literally anything else. Too, it's a bit of self-preservation: he'll start gradually cutting back on his addiction now, to make it slightly less painful when he's got to quit cold-turkey. He's not looking forward to it.  
  
Maybe it's because he came twice in the last few hours, maybe it's because of how little he slept last night, maybe it's because Harry's smiling in his sleep--- whatever the reason, tonight Eggsy falls asleep almost quickly, and thank fuck he doesn't dream.

* * *

Eggsy and Jamal text every night, even if it's just a few words each. _gnite m8_ back and forth. Sometimes they text for hours. Even with that, though, Eggsy's neglecting his best friend. He's doing it and he _knows_ he's doing it and he tries to tell himself that he can't help it, even though he knows it'd be easy enough to change.  
  
But after the third night in a row he spends in a post-orgasmic slumber wrapped around Harry Hart, Eggsy's just about crawling out of his own skin. Harry's just so perfect, and so gorgeous, and he's being so sweet and Eggsy hasn't left Harry's house and Harry hasn't kicked him out and it's so domestic and perfect and Eggsy can _feel_ the hearts in his fucking eyes and he just really, really cannot handle being here right now. So he texts Jamal a beer emoji and a question mark and gets fireworks and exclamation points in return, and changes into his old clothes and tells Harry he'll be back later. It's not till he's walking down the street that he realizes he just _assumed_ he'd be coming back to Harry's place, and that Harry hadn't even blinked.  
  
Eggsy is so, so fucked. And not even the fun way!  
  
When he gets to The Black Prince and sees Jamal sitting at their usual table Eggsy almost cries from relief. _This_ was always home, before. Not the Estate, not his miserable little bedroom with Dean just beyond the door, not anywhere he slept. Not even this pub, really, but _here_ : sitting across from Jamal, who he's known for so long he doesn't remember meeting. It's not till this moment that he realizes how homesick he's been.  
  
Of course, the other half of his real childhood home ought to be sitting in the chair next to Jamal and isn't. Eggsy sits in his usual place on the other side of the table, and tries not to notice how he and Jamal both angle themselves towards Ryan's empty chair.  
  
Jamal looks terrible. Better than expected, really, but still terrible. His face lights up when he sees Eggsy, and Eggsy could cut off his own dick for how long he's been avoiding this. Eggsy's having a hard time dealing with everything, sure, but he knows that Jamal's life is actually worse than his own.  
  
They talk and laugh and bicker back and forth, and after a little while Jamal's eyes slip back into a weary sort of deadness, even though they're no longer missing the half-beat in their conversations where someone else ought to chime in.  
  
Halfway through their second round, though, Eggsy realizes that not all of this is generalized depression and anger. Jamal is angry at him specifically.  
  
"Look, bruv," Eggsy says after a lull in the conversation, "I'm--- I'm real sorry. Honest. That I ain't been around that much."  
  
Jamal looks away and shrugs. "I get it, cuz. I do. You're busy at work. I finally gets what that's like, now." After the population drop courtesy of V-Day, there were enough good jobs on offer for everyone in the Estates who would actually get off their arse and take one. And Jamal did, after some pretty intense urging from Eggsy and his mum.  
  
Before V-Day, Jamal wouldn't have _needed_ urging. Before V-Day, Jamal was the one who kept his eyes open for any sort of legal work the three of them could do. It was Eggsy who was too proud to take a menial job and too angry to go looking for a better one. After V-Day, though, Eggsy's mum had to force Jamal to come live with her and make him get out of bed at least every other day. Eggsy's pretty sure the only reason Jamal never offed himself was because he didn't have the energy to leave Michelle's place, and the fear that Daisy would find his dead body was all that kept him back for a while. He's got his own place now, but Eggsy texts him every night anyway.  
  
Eggsy frowns. It sure seems like Jamal means what he says about understanding that Eggsy's busy. Of course, he doesn't understand, not really, because Eggsy hasn't told him the truth of Kingsman. But Jamal's still angry at him about something.  
  
"Look," Eggsy says, trying to sound neutral instead of petty or patronizing, "would you please just tell me?"  
  
"Tell you? _Tell you_?" Jamal asks, swinging around to face him. There's a spark of anger in his eyes, and frankly it's wonderful. To see a spark of anything in his eyes again is fucking fantastic. But there's hurt in the downturned corners of his mouth and in the tone of his voice, and Eggsy feels like a right dickhead again for adding to Jamal's misery. " _Tell you_? Bruv, how could _you_ not tell _me_? Me! After--- after _everything_ we been through, you're going to just keep mum that you shacked up with some boffin?"  
  
"Shit, bruv," Eggsy says, leaning forward as he sees his precarious world start to crumble around him, "fuck, no, you don't understand."  
  
"Might help me understand if you bothered to fucking _explain_ ," Jamal snaps.  
  
"I will. Promise," Eggsy says, then looks around the pub pointedly. "Just not here."  
  
Jamal sucks in a breath and stares at him for a moment. Finally he lets it out and says, "Yeah, okay."  
  
Fifteen minutes later they're walking down the darkening London streets, hands in their pockets and not looking at each other. Eggsy reminds himself that he once fought off an entire army of highly trained mercenaries single-handedly and tells himself to fucking balls up and talk.  
  
"The thing is," Eggsy starts, "it were just so--- just so good, for me. My whole fucking life is looking up. And I felt like I'd be a right wanker telling you about it. Didn't want you think I were bragging or summat. Didn't want to..." remind you, he can't say.  
  
"Look, cuz," Jamal says. "You are my best and only friend. If I ends up getting a bit jealous, that is my problem to fucking deal with. My issues ain't no reason for you to not be honest with me and tell me you found the love of your bleeding life. After all," and he swallows and looks away and says very quietly, "I told you when I found mine."  
  
"Yeah," Eggsy says. He wants to hit something. He wants to run away.  
  
He wants to rewind back to the day Jamal came to him in a towering panic and said that he was in love with him, he wasn't just fucking him, he was goddamned motherfucking _in love_ with Ryan.  
  
This was a few years after the night they were sitting on the wharves at three in the morning, all of them hormonal and horny teenagers not safe enough to go home, when Jamal and Ryan got bored and started snogging while Eggsy threw stuff at them. It was also about two weeks after Ryan asked to meet Eggsy alone, and shamefacedly asked for his help getting over the fact that he was in love with Jamal.  
  
Eggsy wants some other colorful megalomaniac to pop up and invent a time machine so Eggsy can steal it and go back to that day and tell them all to _get the fuck out_. To run away and get Jamal and Ryan fucking _married_ instead of hanging around and using Eggsy (and their fake crushes on his mum) as cover. He wants to go back in time and scream at them that life is short, sooner or later they're all going to die anyway, and how on earth could they think anything else was more important than this?  
  
He can't go back and tell anyone that, so instead he pulls himself back to the present and tells Jamal about this. Not everything, but most of it. He talks and talks for miles, and eventually they spy a chippie who's still open, and the sun's long gone when they sit on a low wall and eat fish and chips from greasy newspaper and Eggsy is still fucking _talking_.  
  
Harry is so smart, Eggsy tells him. Harry is so kind--- so much more kind than anyone Eggsy's ever been with, Jamal hears when Eggsy can't say. Harry is tall and right fit and dead sexy and snarky as hell and there's just something _about_ him that can't be caught in words, though Jamal listens while Eggsy tries.  
  
When he's finally said his piece Jamal cuts him a sideways glance and says, "Christ, bruv, you really is more than halfway in love with him, ain't you."  
  
"Yeah," Eggsy says, ignoring the fact that he's blushing furiously. "More than halfway, yeah."  
  
Jamal laughs and shoves his shoulder, clearly trying to lighten the mood, and says, "When's the wedding, then? You won't mind if I wears real clothes 'stead of one of those posh monkeysuits, yeah?"  
  
Eggsy _feels_ his face fall, and Jamal stops goofing off. There's a pause, and Jamal says, "Ah. So what else is it, then. He married or summat?"  
  
"No," Eggsy says. "Not married to anyone else. Just. . ."  
  
Jamal waits him out like the fucking amazing friend he is, and finally Eggsy comes to grips with the fact that of everyone else on the face of the earth, Jamal is the only one who will really understand. "I gots a good job now," Eggsy says. "I can fake a posh accent. I wear suits near every day. I got money. I been learning, too--- not just tailoring, but all kinds of things. Reading them old classics and learning about geopolitics and the lot. And I gots friends who're more posh than the Queen, and none of them looks down on me. But I ain't never going to be no more than what I am, ya get me? And Harry--- Look. Everything could be different. I could have been born king of the world, and Harry could be some leper living under a bridge. Fact of the matter is Harry will always be too good for the likes of me."  
  
A moment passes, and Eggsy waits with a sick feeling in his stomach for Jamal to say that he's wrong, that he is worthy of Harry. That people can change and grow and become better than they were. Or that no one person is worth more than another, or that people can rise above the circumstances of their births or overcome their upbringing.  
  
But Jamal is supposed to _get_ it. Jamal is _the same way_. Neither of them has the luxury of being able to ignore money and class brackets and all.  
  
Jamal sighs, and nods. After a moment he says, "That's rough, bruv. That is rough."  
  
It's such a relief when Jamal just accepts what he says that Eggsy flings his arms around him in a tight hug. Jamal laughs, louder than he has all night, and they end up wiping grease on each other's cheeks and in each other's hair and pelting each other with bits of food and running about like they're five years old again.  
  
By the time Eggsy creeps into bed hours later, Harry's already out cold. It's a fucking miracle. Carefully so as not to wake him, Eggsy gathers the man in his arms, and holds him tight, and strokes his hair, and cries himself to sleep.

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Oh, the things we invent when we are scared  
and want to be rescued  
_-Crush_ , Richard Siken  


It is the end of all hope  
To lose the childhood faith  
To end all the innocence  
To be someone like me  
- _End of All Hope_ , Nightwish

* * *

  
The next few days are good. Blissful, even. The results from their STI panels come back, and as soon as Eggsy reads them he crawls over and sucks Harry off without latex in the way _finally_ , which starts out a bit awkward because Harry's actually on his glasses talking to Merlin and he has to ring off real quick. Harry doesn't seem to mind, though.  
  
Eggsy does manage to rein in his kissing addiction a bit, but it seems he has an as-yet undiscovered oral fixation of some sort, because the more he tries to wean himself off Harry's lips, the more addicted he gets to Harry's dick. That's fine, though. They both always go to HQ in the morning, and every day they end up sneaking away together in the early afternoon. It's a wonderful feeling, like playing hookie with his best friend. Well, his best friend, whom he gets to  go home with and shag for hours, but still. Close enough.  
  
They've been spending most of their time at Harry's house, and Eggsy is totally fine with that. Eggsy loves Harry's house, spends every moment he can there, and tries to not let himself subconsciously leave too much of his own mark all over the place. He keeps his things together and doesn't let them migrate from the guest room to Harry's room. He doesn't offer an opinion on moving anything about, other than whinging about finding a different spot for Mr. Pickle (like maybe under a tiny tombstone beneath the back garden), but that's expected of him. Point is, he tries really hard to make sure that when he's got to go, there's not too much of himself left over.  
  
Three days later Harry insists that Eggsy go in to HQ today and stay there until his paperwork is all caught up. Eggsy really, really doesn't want to, but Harry blows him until he's begging, and then _stops blowing him_ until he agrees to anything Harry says, which is just playing fucking dirty. After, when they're lying next to each other, glowy and gasping, Harry says, "You realize, of course, that if you finish all the paperwork for all the missions you've done thus far, you'll be _done_."  
  
"What?" Eggsy pants.  
  
"Because you aren't getting any new missions for a while," Harry explains.  
  
Eggsy tries to think about it for a second. Then he shakes his head and groans, "Bruv, you just sucked my brain out my dick. Gissa second 'fore you ask me to understand things."  
  
Harry laughs--- lying there with the sheets around his thighs, not a blessed bit of anything covering him except for the gauze, flushed down to his chest, morning sunlight glowing golden on his skin, his hair a loose tumble--- he curls on himself and laughs so hard his smile is blinding and makes him look so young, and Eggsy loves him.  
  
He wallops Harry with a pillow, and Harry pushes it aside, still laughing, and pounces on him. They mock-wrestle for a minute, both of them trying to catch their breaths and snickering like schoolboys, and eventually (predictably) they end up kissing again. After a little while, though, it's Harry who pulls back, and starts saying, "Up, up, come on, get up," between kisses to his neck and shoulders and the tip of his nose. Eggsy laughs and shoves his face away.  
  
"You aren't going on new missions at the moment," Harry says as he slides out of bed, and Eggsy flings an arm over his eyes and groans, "which means you won't be generating any more paperwork. Which means if you actually manage to finish the paperwork you have now, you'll be entirely _done_. And if you're entirely done, you won't have to go in every day."  
  
Eggsy lays there and thinks about this while Harry starts getting ready for the day. Part of him is noting Harry's progress, pointing out that Harry came less than half an hour ago, and not only is he still fully conscious, he's also walking about with a spring in his step and making action plans to get Eggsy out from under the mountain of paperwork he's current drowning in. But then he runs what Harry just said through his head again, and is so shocked he blurts out, "Paperwork is finite."  
  
Harry laughs. "Yes, Eggsy, it is." He leans against the loo door for a moment and quirks an eyebrow at him, "Or it would be, anyway, if you finished it when you were supposed to." Then he closes the door and turns on the shower.  
  
Eggsy stares at the ceiling for a moment. "Huh," he says. It's possible to actually _finish_ paperwork. The thought had honestly never occurred.  
  
So when they get to HQ, Eggsy beelines for his office and shuts himself in with a determination he's never felt in this room before. It's still fucking weird that he's got an office in the first place, but today he spends less time being freaked out by that and more time being thankful he's got a door he can close.  
  
By the time he emerges it's nearly seven, and when asked Merlin says that Harry went home hours ago, and asked Eggsy to meet him there when he was done. He hightails it back to Stanhope Mews, thinking that he could seriously use some sex to get him over the horrors of _paperwork_. When he walks into the house it's to find Harry sitting in the living room in his shirtsleeves reading the paper.  
  
"Eggsy," he says, smiling brightly as soon as Eggsy comes in.  
  
"Harry," Eggsy groans, "come here." But he's already striding across the room to flop down next to Harry to kiss him and reach for his flies.  
  
Harry chuckles, but turns his head away. " _Harry_ ," Eggsy whines. "Come on, bruv, I swear to God I fucking _taste_ of paperwork."  
  
Harry laughs again and says, "Wait, just wait a moment." Eggsy groans theatrically, like he's _dying_ , and Harry kisses his cheek. It's so sweet, so at odds with how they usually are, and it makes something in Eggsy's chest lurch to the side.  
  
"I got something for you," Harry says. He's smiling, but there's just a hint of uncertainty in the corner of his eye.  
  
"Really?" Eggsy asks, perking up. "You got me a present? What? What is it?"  
  
Harry lets out a breath and a smile, like he thinks he's laughing but really just sounds relieved. "Come along," he says. "I'll show you."  
  
He takes Eggsy by the hand and tugs him to his feet, then down the hall, then---  
  
The only part of Harry's house Eggsy cannot stand is the study. Because that's just, no. That's where, that's where--- that's _where_. He can't go in without hearing it, knows from experience he can't sit in the desk chair without seeing it again, and can't sit in the other chair without watching Harry in his shirtsleeves and shoulder holster opening up to him for the first time.  
  
Oblivious, Harry pulls him into the middle of the room and lets go of his hand, then fetches something off the desk. He turns around, holding something wide and flat, saying something Eggsy can't hear. He's seeing double: Harry's sitting at the desk, but no, he's standing, he's gazing at Eggsy head-on and serious, except he's looking down at what he's holding and there's a pink tinge to his cheeks, he's in his shirtsleeves, he's wearing his holster and then he isn't, he's holding a bag, and he's holding a gun, and his voice is blustering and oddly bashful but he's saying "What did you do to me?"  
  
And then he's saying Eggsy's name, over and over, all the myriad ways he's said it before, challenging and exasperated and breathless and fond and furious, so furious, can't you see everything I did was for _him_ , not you, never you, Eggsy. Eggsy. Eggsy?  
  
He blinks, and Harry's sitting behind the desk but mostly he's standing right in front of him, looking at him half-shy and half-worried and so unlike himself. "Eggsy?" Harry says again. Because he's said it a few times already. Trying to get Eggsy's attention.  
  
He makes himself breathe, and then he makes himself look away from Harry, because much as Harry might be acting a bit like a puppy with a crush right now, he's still an incredibly intelligent man who's spent most of his life in the mindfuckery business, and this is one thing Eggsy doesn't want Harry reading off his face.  
  
"Sorry," he says. "Sorry. What's all this?"  
  
"Open it," Harry says.  
  
Eggsy opens his hands, and looks down when something stiff and flimsy is laid on them. There's a plastic bag covering what feels like a sheet of cardboard. So he takes it out, and finds a copy of the front page of the Sun staring at him from a plastic case. The headline says _This Ain't That Kind of Movie, Bruv_.  
  
Eggsy swallows and tries to breathe and can't. He looks up and the words won't go away, they're screaming black and white from every headline in the room, stark against the bloodred walls, _this ain't that kind of movie bruv, this ain't that kind of movie bruv, this ain't that kind of movie bruv_.  
  
"Eggsy," says Harry.  
  
His voice is loud; not shouting, but firm. Grounding. Eggsy tears his eyes away from _this ain't that kind of movie bruv_ and looks at Harry. Just the one eye, warm and brown and gorgeous, and the gauze covering the other eye where Valentine shot him.  
  
But didn't kill him.  
  
_Alive_. Eggsy gasps. It feels like the first breath after he broke the mirror.  
  
"Yes," Harry says, gently now. Slowly, not breaking eye contact and being sure to telegraph every movement, Harry raises his hands, then places them on Eggsy's shoulders.  
  
There's no telling which of them moves first, though probably they move at the same time. They both fling themselves forward and wrap their arms around each other like they're never letting go. At the last moment some part of Eggsy's mind nudges the rest of him, reminds him that he can do sex but not affection, so he turns his head and catches Harry's lips and bites at his mouth like he wants to hurt him.  
  
Some time later--- could be minutes; could be hours--- Harry shifts and tugs him towards the door. He breaks their mouths apart and puts an arm around Eggsy's shoulders, and leads him out into the living room. They sit down on the couch, Harry smooth and controlled as always, Eggsy stiff and shaking.  
  
For a little while they just sit there, the only point of contact the one hand that Harry's got gripping Eggsy's shoulder. Eggsy does his best to breathe.  
  
"Eggsy," says Harry, once his breathing is mostly back under his control.  
  
"Yeah," Eggsy says. He doesn't look at Harry. Can't; fuck, that was embarrassing. Harry's way more hung up on the age difference than Eggsy is, and Eggsy acting like a pathetic child is not going to help. So he stares straight ahead and tries to project an aura of adulthood. It probably doesn't work very well.  
  
After a short pause, Harry lets out a breath and says, "You don't have to tell me, my dear. But I do know what panic attacks and flashbacks look like, and it seems you were on the verge of both. If you would like to tell me, I would like to hear."  
  
Eggsy stopped breathing about halfway through Harry's little speech, but Harry's voice is so sure and the hand on his shoulder is so steady that Eggsy--- kind of believes him.  
  
He lets out the breath he was holding in a laugh that sounds more painful than happy. "Not much to tell," he says, trying to smile but looking at his knees. "It's just--- that's, um, that's where I were when I watched--- well. You know. When you--- yeah. At the, at the church. I been in there once or twice since, but I can't, I can't really look at none of that stuff without it being like it's happening again, and, yeah. Sorry, bruv. I didn't mean to freak out on you. 'S pathetic of me, I know. Some spy I am, huh?" He makes himself smile, and looks at Harry, trying to get him to help lighten the mood.  
  
The thing is, Eggsy wants Harry to say that no, it's not true. That it isn't childish for Eggsy to have a hard time going back into the room where he saw the love of his life brainwashed and then murdered. He wants Harry to tell him that he's a man, not a boy, despite his poor control of his emotions. Mostly, though, Eggsy feels awful and kind of sick and would really, really like it if Harry maybe gave him a hug. He's just about got enough courage to start towards Harry himself when Harry _bolts_.  
  
Okay, so not 'bolts' exactly, more like he jumps up from the couch and turns on his heel and sweeps away as imperiously as if he were wearing a bleeding opera cloak. Eggsy blinks a few times, and the fact remains that Harry was here a moment ago and now he isn't. And it's not because he's being brave or some shit. He ran away.  
  
Well. So much for that.  
  
So Eggsy deals with it on his own, which is good, really. He can't forget that he  _can_ do this; can get through things on his own. More importantly, that he can get through things without Harry. A few hours later Harry still hasn't come back, and for the first time Eggsy feels awkward being in his house without him. He doesn't want to cook because he doesn't want to use the kitchen, and he doesn't want to order takeaway because he's not sure when Harry will be back so he doesn't know how much he ought to order. He ends up having cereal for dinner, and he washes the bowl and the spoon and dries them and puts them away and doesn't leave them in the sink.  
  
Eventually Harry texts, saying that he's at HQ and won't be back till late. He also says that Eggsy is welcome to stay until he gets back, which is a 'get the fuck out of my house' couched in gentleman's language if Eggsy's ever heard one, so. He locks up and spends the night at his mum's place, which he hasn't done in weeks. The last time he slept in this bed was before Harry got back, when Eggsy started sleeping at HQ, and then started sleeping at Harry's. He feels like a completely different person than he was last time he slept in this now-tiny bed in his mum's house.  
  
And isn't that weird? He sleeps at HQ, or at Harry's place, or at his mum's, but never at his _own_. He doesn't _have_ his own place. There are places where he's stayed often, but never has his name showed up on a lease. He's never owned anything. He feels more homeless now than he did even when they had to live with Dean.

 

* * *

 

 

Eggsy avoids Harry for a few days, and Harry avoids him back. He doesn't really have a reason to go in to HQ, but he goes in anyway, hits the gym and the obstacle course and the pool every day, looks about for Roxy, avoids Merlin, qualifies on the next module of his weapons training. He's no idea what Harry's doing, and the few people Eggsy talks to don't mention him.  
  
Finally one day Kay comes up to him and says, "You're killing the collective buzz of this entire organization, kid, so you're being kicked out for at least the rest of the day. If I were you I'd look for Lancelot on the front steps in about twenty minutes. You two have fun with the rest of your day, and if you need someone to brutally murder whoever's fucked you up this bad, you know where to find me." And then the bastard strolls away and leaves Eggsy spluttering in his wake.  
  
He wants to stay just to piss him off, but then he gets a text from Roxy asking if he wants booze or ice cream or both, and Eggsy groans and realizes all over again that it'd take a stronger man than he to say no to Roxanne Morton.  
  
"Both," he says seventeen minutes later, jogging up to her where she's waiting next to the car. "Both is good."  
  
"I know just the place!" she says excitedly. It turns out she's not joking: she takes him to this strange hipster joint that is literally a bar-slash-ice-cream-parlor. They have traditional flavors of everything, but a good half of the ice creams are booze-flavored, and most of the mixed drinks have some sort of ice cream in them.  
  
"So," she says, "does he have erectile dysfunction or something?"  
  
He splutters into his brandy Alexander (with an extra shot, because he feels he needs it). "Fucking hell, Rox," he coughs, pounding his chest. "Warn a bruv before you start talking about his boyfriend's fucking _erection_ , yeah?"  
  
"Is he, then?" she asks, pinning him with a look and swirling her spoon in her rum and Coke float. This was a bad idea, he thinks. He and Roxy have a relationship based mostly on the fact that they're both blunt and brutally honest, and have precisely zero tolerance for bullshit. They care about each other so much, though, that their honesty's gone past the point of telling the truth about everything else, and has progressed to bluntly telling the truth about _themselves_. It's strange, trusting himself so fully to a woman who has so little gentleness in her. Strange, and wonderful, much like Roxy herself.  
  
This is one thing, though, that he doesn't want to talk about. Not to her, not to anyone. This isn't about his own thoughts and feelings; it's about _Harry's_ , and Eggsy doesn't spill the beans on anyone else, not ever. Problem is, he's so used to telling her everything, and she's so used to reading him like a fucking book, he doesn't know how he's going to prevaricate now.  
  
He says, "What?"  
  
"Is he your boyfriend?"  
  
"Oh. Yeah. That. I'm--- not sure?" he tries.  
  
She rolls her eyes. "Answer these simple questions: has either of you  _said_ that you're going steady?"  
  
"I, um." Christ, this just sounds more pathetic the longer he talks about it. "I've called him my boyfriend before, and he's never disagreed, so."  
  
"Jesus," she says, looking halfway between laughter and angry tears. "Okay, so you're in some form of romantic relationship and you both know it. Fine. Whatever. Next question: has either of you said the words 'it's over'? Or any variation thereof?"  
  
"I was trained to withstand interrogation and all," he points out. "Why am I telling you this?"  
  
"That's a no, then," she says. Eggsy gives up. "But you're avoiding each other like the plague. Oh, don't give me that look, of course I know. What did you fight about?"  
  
"We didn't fight," Eggsy protests, because that's true.  
  
"What did he do? What did _you_ do?"  
  
"Damnit, Rox, just leave it---"  
  
"No, this is fun, it's good practice. Let me guess. Okay, so neither of you have been on a mission, so it's nothing to do with work. Neither of you has castrated the other, so it wasn't cheating. Neither of you have---"  
  
"Rox," Eggsy says, serious now, "this ain't funny no more. Just leave it."  
  
She looks him full in the face. "No," she says.  
  
"Jesus, Rox!" He throws up his hands. "Look, we didn't fight, we didn't cheat on each other, nobody threw a punch. Okay? So can't you just--- can't you just be a friend for a mo, let me sulk into my chocolate milk and tell me pretty lies or summat?"  
  
"Oh, honey," she sighs, "you must know I can't do that."  
  
"Why not?" he snaps.  
  
She shrugs. "I care about you too much. Can't let you wallow in needless self-pity and can't lie to you, sweetie."  
  
"You could if you wanted to."  
  
"Fine, then. Could, but won't."  
  
"Rox, you're killing me," he groans, dropping his face into his hand. He takes a deep breath, trying to think of something to say that'll get her off his back. In the end, he figures his best bet is the truth, odd as that may be. "Look. We just--- we had a minute where I wasn't thinking too clearly and may have done some stupid things, and Harry took off. I deserved it, though, please trust me on that. And no, I ain't going into no more detail than that. What we were talking about, it's--- not my secret to tell." Not that the church in Kentucky is a _secret_ by any means--- but he doesn't know how else to say 'it's something that traumatized Harry that I brought up, and I should have known better.'  
  
She looks at him for a long, long time. He goes back to poking holes in the whipped cream on top of his drink with his straw. At last she says, "You realize he probably had no idea that you were watching his feed during the massacre or the murder, Eggsy."  
  
His mouth actually drops open. "How," he says. "How the _actual fuck_."  
  
If only she didn't look so calm, and so--- sad, maybe; there's some sort of hard affection in her eyes that makes it difficult for the resentment he's throwing at her to stick.  
  
She shakes her head. "It's obvious, really. And you're a Kingsman, too: it'd be just as obvious to you what was going on if you'd get your head out of your arse and realize that not everything is about _you_."  
  
And that--- that hurts. Because he's trying so hard, and thought he was doing so well. "I know that," he says, but it sounds weak even to him.  
  
She hums. "There's a difference between knowing something intellectually, and believing it so deeply it influences your subconscious."  
  
"Rox," he says, "please stop talking. Look! Chocolate milk! Ice cream! Eat your damn float."  
  
She laughs. "You are so cute when you pretend to be a sad puppy instead of a killing machine in a dead sexy suit."  
  
He sighs.  
  
"Look," she says, serious again. "You're so focused on this being about what _you_ think it's about that you never thought to look at this from _his_ point of view, did you? You're convinced everything is your fault and that you're somehow just not good enough for him, so whenever something bad happens that's all you see. But you need to stop that, okay? It'll become a self-fulfilling prophecy and I won't let that happen."  
  
"Rox---" he starts, because she needs to stop talking. There's so much information in what she's just said, and somehow she's hit every single fucking nail straight on the head but she's still _wrong_ , so wrong, and he needs her to stop looking at him like that.  
  
Before he can get further, though, she says, "You need to think about this from the point of view of a lonely, injured man who's dating someone gorgeous and _half_ his fucking age, and start assuming Harry might have a few insecurities, too."  
  
All he can do is gawp at her, because Roxy is one of the smartest people he's ever met, and yet what she just said is also one of the dumbest things he's ever heard.  
  
Finally he says, "I am not _half_ his age."  
  
"I know," she says. "Drink your shake."  
  
"Chocolate milk," he says on autopilot.  
  
"It's got ice cream in it; it's a shake," she says. He's not really paying attention. "Drink up, darling. I think you don't want to be here much longer, and I'm not leaving till I've finished my float."  
  
He can't even really laugh.  
  
They leave, and he stands on the pavement outside the shop and owes her more than he can say. She's always been so good to him, and also--- if he's going to continue being honest with himself--- this is really fucking similar to when he disappointed Harry and then almost never saw him again, and he wants to tell her that he loves her but doesn't know how. He's about to walk away when she squeezes his arm and says, "Bye, babe. Love you. Text me laters, yeah?"  
  
"Yeah," he breathes out explosively, "you too, Rox--- you, too. And I will, sure."  
  
Modern world or not a guy can't say he loves a girl and mean it the way Eggsy does for Roxy, but he says it as sincerely as he can and feels like he's got hearts in his eyes. She just smiles and full-on Han Solos him--- just says, "Yeah, I know,"--- and then walks away.  
  
He turns his face towards Harry's house, squares his shoulders, takes a deep breath, and prepares to nut up.  


 

 


	6. Chapter 6

All my nightmares escaped my head  
Bar the door, please don't let them in  
You were never supposed to leave  
Now my head's splitting at the seams  
[- _Welcome Home_ , Radical Face](https://youtu.be/pqi4whXaHx8)

 

* * *

  
  
It takes a while for Harry to open the door, but the important part is that he does open it. And immediately steps back to let Eggsy in.  
  
So in Eggsy goes, stealing glances at Harry out the corner of his eye. He's wearing dark slacks and his favorite lumpy oatmeal jumper over a white dress shirt, and his hair is combed but not styled. He must not have been at HQ at all today.  
  
Eggsy was worried it would be awkward, and hoo boy, was he right. He knows the best way to get over that with Harry is to bull forward until he's forced things to feel normal enough to kick them out of the rut, so he toes off his shoes and goes straight for the kitchen and the kettle. He automatically gets out two cups and realizes he didn't kiss Harry when he came in. Which, yeah, Eggsy's still trying to cut his addiction, but Harry's sure to read that as some sort of rejection. Goddamnit.  
  
Quarter of an hour later they still haven't said a word. They're sitting at the table sipping from their respective mugs, and much to Eggsy's consternation they've also fallen into their stereotypical roles. Harry's got his legs crossed and is leaning back in his chair, the picture of a perfectly unconcerned gentleman, while Eggsy's slumped down so far his head's resting on the back of the chair, his legs sprawling wide and obnoxious, the hand not holding his tea crossed defensively over his chest. They're the spitting fucking image of a reproving adult and a defiant child, and it's just really not fucking helping.  
  
Eggsy sneaks a glance at Harry again and then forces himself to stop _glancing_ and _look_ , really look at him, and he doesn't like what he sees. Harry doesn't look so good, like maybe he's not sleeping well, like maybe he's somewhere close to miserable.  
  
"Look," Eggsy says, straightening up to sit properly in the chair and keeping his eyes on Harry's face, "will you please just say whatever you're busy not saying and get it over with?"  
  
"I'm sorry," Harry says without missing a beat. He keeps his gaze on his cup as he turns it about in the saucer before he clearly forces himself to stop fidgeting. He sounds completely collected, no hint of a whisper or a hitch in his voice, and his face is granite, but that in itself is a dead giveaway. "For what you saw. I'm truly sorry." And then he doesn't say anything else.  
  
Eggsy's waiting for an explanation or maybe the punchline, and it takes a few seconds to realize there's not one coming.  
  
Jesus, maybe Roxy was right.  
  
"You've got a lot of things to apologize for, bruv," Eggsy says, voice rough, "but what I seen that day sure as _fuck_ ain't one of them."  
  
Harry sighs and crosses his arms, but he still doesn't look at Eggsy. "From what you've said, you already had feelings for me at that point. Add to that the fact that I was your mentor, the man you were supposed to emulate. And then you had to see me become a monster and kill all those people. Not just kill them, but murder them, brutally, without hesitation or remorse."  
  
"Harry," Eggsy says, and then stops. He doesn't know how to deal with this. He  doesn't have the maturity or experience to know what to do; doesn't have words big enough to knock aside something this heavy. Desperate, he starts in on the first thing that comes to mind, reflexive social conditioning for a situation like this: "It weren't your fault---"  
  
"Eggsy." Harry finally looks at him, glaring with suppressed annoyance. "You told me yourself that you cannot even go into the study without suffering a flashback and panic attack. I'd say I have rather a lot to answer for."  
  
"Fuck," Eggsy says, because--- he never said that, did he? He never said that. That can't have been what he said, because it's not true.  
  
But then he thinks about it, and what he said was that the study reminds him of what happened at the church. He didn't mention that while what happened inside the church was terrible to watch, it was what happened _outside_ that really fucked him up.  
  
" _Christ_ ," he says. He goes over to Harry and doesn't even break his stride, just climbs right into Harry's lap, and Harry has to fumble the cup and saucer onto the table and the chair creaks alarmingly but Eggsy gets his knees on either side of Harry's hips anyway.  
  
"Harry," Eggsy says firmly, gripping the back of chair and caging Harry in. Harry's got his hands on Eggsy's waist to make sure he doesn't fall, and his eye is wide and locked on Eggsy's own. Thankfully, it looks like he's going to listen to what Eggsy has to say before he spouts off again. "You listen to me. What happened that day at the church--- it were the stuff of nightmares. I still dream about it. I can't--- I can't go in there without hearing the gunshot again. Can't sit in the desk chair without watching it like it's playing in front of me again.  
  
"It was like my worst nightmares escaped my head," Eggsy says, leaning forward. Much to his chagrin, he feels his breath starting to hitch. Shit. "Like every fear I'd ever had were coming to life. When he shot you, Harry---" and yeah, that's it. Those are the words he's never said aloud, not even when he thought Harry was dead.  
  
He presses their foreheads together and breathes deep. In through his nose, out through his mouth.  
  
"My dear boy," Harry breathes, his hands running up and down Eggsy's back. Eggsy keeps his eyes closed, breathes a bit more, calms down. When he can look at Harry again, Harry says, "I can't imagine how hard that must have been for you."  
  
"You're right," Eggsy says. "I don't think you can. I don't think you're even _trying_ , bruv, because you still just don't get it."  
  
Harry looks at him, but doesn't interrupt. Finally, Eggsy gathers himself enough to say, "Look, what happened inside the church, yeah, that were rank. And it weren't easy to watch. But when you got outside and said, and said--- well, and said that it weren't you, that somehow he'd _made_ you--- Jesus, Harry. I know _I_ can't imagine _that_. But that's--- that's not it. How on earth can you possibly think that any of that could be half so bad as watching _your fucking murder_?"  
  
Harry looks at him for a long, long time. Eggsy looks back. He doesn't say anything else. Doesn't know what else there is to say; one more word and he'll end up blurting out that Harry died and took Eggsy's heart with him to the grave, and then where will they be?  
  
After whole ages of the world contained in a look, Harry leans forward slowly and gives him a soft kiss. "Do you trust me?" he asks.  
  
"Yes, Harry," Eggsy says.  
  
"Then stand up, please."  
  
Eggsy does.  
  
Harry stands, too; doesn't look at him, but--- takes his hand. Eggsy's chest is tight.  
  
With not a word spoken, Harry tugs him through the house. As Eggsy suspected (and dreaded), Harry leads him to the study. Eggsy's kind of hoping for maybe a quick snog and a grope or something to lighten the mood, but instead Harry pushes him down in the desk chair. For one moment Eggsy's sure he's going to be sick, wondering what Harry's going to do, worried he's maybe going to ask Eggsy to recount what happened that day so they can fucking _talk about it_ or some shite, but instead--- Harry continues the motion of pushing Eggsy down, and gracefully drops to his knees in front of him.  
  
Eggsy can't breathe, can't think, can't look away--- Harry mouths him through his pants for a moment, which he knows Eggsy likes, but soon he's got his mouth on Eggsy's dick, and Eggsy grips the arms of the chair so hard his knuckles creak. Harry doesn't do anything spectacular or inventive, just blows him---- sincerely, if a blowjob can be called sincere.  
  
Mostly, though, it's Harry's slightly curly hair over his groin, his broad strong shoulders in that fucking cardigan between his knees, Harry's huge elegant hands gripping his thighs and then one hand pressing against his hip when he starts squirming and thrusting, just a little. They're both completely silent, Eggsy gasping harsh breaths that get shorter and painful the closer he gets, and there's just something so--- so--- fuck him, but there's just something so sweet, almost fucking _kind_ about the way Harry's doing this: not teasing, not rough, just--- just honestly trying to make Eggsy feel good, and Eggsy doesn't know what to do with _any_ of this, and he comes and comes, and Harry fucking swallows it all like a champ.  
  
For a moment Eggsy blurs against the back of the chair, dizzy and still twisted about inside, but eventually it registers that Harry's leaning his head against the inside of Eggsy's thigh and is rubbing his calf slowly, and that Eggsy is stroking his hair.  
  
He heaves himself forward and off the chair and half-tackles, half-collapses on Harry. He closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see and kisses Harry, dick-breath and all, and fumbles with his flies until he can get a hand around him and jerk him off, sharp and fast.  
  
Afterwards they lay there and breathe for a moment, then Eggsy rolls away and Harry starts to get up, but Eggsy holds on and Harry doesn't fight him. Eggsy pushes and prods until they're sort of sprawling, both of them tucked away again and Harry's head on Eggsy's shoulder, one of his hands gentling Eggsy's thigh and Eggsy's hand running over his arm.  
  
"That one," Eggsy says, pointing at a Sun headline.  
  
"Ah," says Harry, and his voice isn't too rough. "Stopped a rather inventive man from putting a weaponized virus in the city's water supply."  
  
Eggsy hums. "That one."  
  
"The one about cat's---"  
  
"No, the one next to it. Speed Camera Outrage, that being something I've suffered from meself a few times."  
  
Harry laughs. "That one wasn't technically a mission," he says. "All the same, I am rather proud of it. I was out for a stroll one evening and happened upon some men harassing a young lady. So far as I know, none of them died, and I'd bet the one is probably able to walk again by now. I've also got the clipping from a few months later announcing her becoming the spokeswoman for a rather prominent safe streets organization, but unfortunately it would have completely wrecked the symmetry of the room to put that on the wall as well."  
  
Eggsy's throat closes up like _he_ was the one on his knees a few minutes ago. He wants to say--- well, a lot of things, but of course he can't. However, this is still what he's coming to think of as a Teachable Moment for Harry's self-esteem, so he kisses Harry's hair and says, "Sometimes I just don't understand you."  
  
Harry chuckles. "Not much to understand, my dear. I know you would do the same thing, if you came upon such a situation today."  
  
Present-tense, like he thinks that if Eggsy'd come upon such a situation _before_ he wouldn't have done anything. And, to be fair, Harry's really got no way of knowing if he's wrong.  
  
"'Course I would," he says. "Same as you would do today. Or yesterday, or the day before that, or if you'd seen summat similar on your way to that church."  
  
Harry sighs. "Eggsy..."  
  
And he should really learn to stop pausing after he says Eggsy's name, because by now Eggsy nearly always takes it as an invitation to interrupt. "You're a good man, Harry Hart. Always have been. And I just do not understand how you think that someone else using fucking _mind-control_ on you changes that."  
  
"It was _me_ ," Harry says, quiet and harsh. "You say you watched the feed, but did you pay attention? I was no puppet. The device affected the centers in the brain controlling aggression and inhibition, but it didn't control my hands. There was nothing forced in how I moved or what I did, Eggsy."  
  
"Bullshit," says Eggsy. "I know you think I don't know what I'm talking about because I didn't never experience it, but nearly every other living person did, Harry. My mum chopped through a door with meat-cleaver to get at her baby. Roxy's parents murdered each other. My best friend Jamal--- I don't know for sure, and he definitely ain't talking, but I'm pretty sure Jamal killed our best friend Ryan."  
  
Eggsy breathes. That hurt just to say. "You know how many people killed someone they _loved_ that day, Harry? Just about everyone. If that signal were strong enough to cut through ties that deep, there ain't nothing on this earth that could have resisted it. Not even you."  
  
Harry's silent in his arms, breathing quick and deep, but he doesn't move. Eggsy kisses his hair again and says, "You gots to stop beating yourself up about it, because when you come right down to it, the only thing you could almost blame yourself for is just being human, and that's hardly your fault, Harry." Then he shuts up, because there's such a thing as over-selling.  
  
A few minutes later Harry clears his throat, and Eggsy braces himself and starts trying to line up more arguments in his head, but all Harry does is point to another headline and say, "That one is from a rather boring case--- all I did was surveillance, and then the evidence I collected was used to close down a drug ring through the legal channels. The clipping is from the day the guilty verdicts were handed down by the courts."  
  
"Harry Hart does boring cases," Eggsy says, disbelieving.  
  
Harry chuckles--- weakly, yes, but still. Progress.  
  
They talk quietly a bit more, going through almost every headline they can see from their current position, and before Eggsy knows it he's so comfortable and happy and _relieved_ that something _he's_ been busy not saying for a long while just kind of falls out of his mouth.  
  
"You know," is what he says, "I really hardly know anything about you."  
  
Of course, Harry being Harry and all, he doesn't react any of the ways Eggsy expects. He laughs and says, "And I know everything about you."  
  
"Piss off," Eggsy chuckles, barely shoving his shoulder before going back to rubbing his arm. "You do not."  
  
"I think you'll find I do."  
  
"No," Eggsy says, just to be contrary, "you know my _file_. You know my facts. But you don't know nothing 'bout _me_ , bruv, not really. So hit me. Tell me something from my file."  
  
"When you were nine," Harry fires back, "you spray-painted gang-sign graffiti under a bridge."  
  
Eggsy laughs. Harry turns to look at him. "Jesus, forgot about that," he says. "That were the dumbest thing. I swear to Christ that copper had some sort of mental issues or summat."  
  
"Really," Harry says, quirking his eyebrow. "As I understand it, you were caught standing in front of the half-finished graffiti with a bag of spray-paint, a can of spray-paint in your hand, and the officer in question actually saw you spraying the wall."  
  
Eggsy laughed. "Yep. He were still dumb as a bag of rocks, though."  
  
"Do tell," Harry says, voice dry as a desert.  
  
"Sure thing, bruv," Eggsy says. "But not here. Floor's not really comfortable no more."  
  
"It was never comfortable in the first place," Harry says as he gets up.  
  
Harry--- still holding Eggsy's hand, and seriously, what the fuck--- leads them towards the living room, but Eggsy says he doesn't feel like contorting himself on the sofa, so he drags them to Harry's room instead. They lay down sideways on the bed, fully clothed still, but warm and content and sprawling, smiling at each other.  
  
"So," Eggsy says. "This spray-painting incident you're so sure you know everything about. What's that say about me?"  
  
"That you were trying to fit in," Harry says. "It wasn't your idea, of course--- how could it be? You were nine. It's not like you would have known what symbols to paint if no one had told you. But it was, I imagine, either a rite of passage or a joke to endear you to the older boys."  
  
"Ah, darling," Eggsy sighs, kissing Harry's forehead, "it's cute how innocent you are sometimes." He says this because the alternative is saying 'no, really, go ahead and emphasize again how very different our worlds are.'  
  
Harry pretends to glare at him. "How on earth did any of that showcase _my_ innocence?"  
  
"You big idiot," Eggsy says fondly. "As if I didn't know gang sign by the time I were nine. You think I couldn't read or summat by then, either? Real vote of confidence for my intelligence, Harry."  
  
Harry chuckles, and Eggsy continues, "I were walking home one night, and there were some thugs spray-painting this wall. I knew what sign they were doing, so I knew who they was, and I knew I didn't want to mess with them. So I'm walking past right fast with me head down, and then their lookout on the end of the street shouts over that there's a copper following the kid. They all ran, of course, but the way they looked at me 'fore they scarpered--- I were dead. I knew it. And me mum wouldn't be able to help, and her boyfriend then--- shite, don't even remember his name, Davie or somesuch--- he were nice enough, I s'pose, but he were a skinny guy and high more often than not, so he'd be no help. I did the only thing I could think of."  
  
"You picked up a spray can," Harry says.  
  
"Yep. I even sprayed the wall a bit. Well down below what they were doing and all; didn't want to mess it up, did I. But this cop comes 'round the corner and sees me, and sure enough, thinks I done the whole thing. Took me down to the station and all. I didn't grass on no one, 'course--- that would'a defeated the whole object, see. Never told no one till now. They let me go when me mum came to pick me up."  
  
Harry's looking at him intently. He doesn't look angry, or sad, or pitying, or--- much of anything, really, other than focused.  
  
"I gather the gang didn't attempt to kill you?"  
  
"Nope," says Eggsy. "Left me well enough alone. There were one time though, 'bout maybe six months later, I were lifting a loaf of bread from the store, and the manager caught me. He didn't call the cops, but he took it back and kicked me out. Little while later, when I'm walking home, one of the guys from the gang--- not sure if he were there that night or not, but definitely the same gang, yeah--- he comes and gives me a shopping bag, nods, and walks away."  
  
Harry's still looking at him. "The bread?"  
  
Eggsy nods. "And milk and cheese and butter and jam, too. Not sure if he stole it or paid for it, and never much cared."  
  
"And why," Harry says, "was this police officer dumber than a bag of rocks? Sounds to me like you probably confessed to everything."  
  
Eggsy snorts. "'Course I did. But I were _nine_ , and small for my age. Most of the graffiti were _way_ above my head. Not to mention the bag with all the spraycans were about as big as I was and all."  
  
Harry laughs. Eggsy can't help it: he laughs, too. After the truly shitty few days he's had, and then after everything earlier--- he's still adjusting to being content again. It's a strange feeling, but light and buoyant. He looks at Harry, lying sideways on his bed over the covers with his hair mussed and all his clothes still on, and thinks he must feel the same way.  
  
"Ah, well," says Harry. "It's incompetence like _that_ which keeps you and I in work, Eggsy. Goodness only knows if law enforcement worldwide functioned correctly, there'd be not much need for us."  
  
"Hmmm," Eggsy hums, rolling a bit to sling an arm about Harry's shoulders, " _I'd_ still need you."  
  
Shit. He wasn't supposed to say that.  
  
"Your turn," Eggsy says quickly.  
  
Harry doesn't seem to notice, though. "My turn to what?" he asks.  
  
"Your turn to tell me a story of embarrassing childhood theft," Eggsy smiles.  
  
Harry looks at him for a moment, and then--- gives in. He tells Eggsy about stealing a trifle one time when he was also nine, mostly just to see if he could do it, and when it worked he realized he didn't actually _like_ what he'd stolen and had no idea what to do with it. Eggsy laughs himself silly.  
  
They talk for hours and Eggsy convinces Harry to scrounge a quick dinner and eat it in bed. He keeps waiting for the sex to happen, but eventually they just they just talk and talk and fucking _talk_ until they both drift off. Eggsy wakes deep in the night and turns off the lights, pulls the duvet out from beneath Harry, covers them both, and wonders if it's strange to share a bed without sex first. Then he wonders if it's _more_ strange for doing so to feel this natural. Fuck his life.

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Childhood shows the man as morning shows the day.  
-John Milton

* * *

 

The next morning over breakfast, Harry says, "When you were twelve, you broke your arm."  
  
That's true. Spiral fracture right up the bones of his forearm. Harry says it casually, but he's also not looking at Eggsy.  
  
"Would you prefer blackcurrant or marmalade?" Harry asks, holding out the tiny tray he uses to hold all his fussy little pots of toast-toppings, the mad fucker.  
  
So Harry wants to continue their game from last night, asking things about Eggsy's file and letting him tell the stories. And he's wary of this one, but wants to know. And he's giving Eggsy an out, too.If Eggsy talks about the jam and doesn't answer his other question, Harry won't press him.  
  
Eggsy exhales. "Yeah, I did. Right after my twelfth birthday, actually. Marmalade, please."  
  
Harry hums in acknowledgement and sits down, then dithers for a moment over his own choice for what to spread on his toast.  
  
"Fuck's sake, Harry," Eggsy laughs after a moment. "You've two pieces of toast, have one with each."  
  
Harry casts him a suspicious glance. "The flavors would clash."  
  
"That's what coffee is for," Eggsy says, raising his own cup towards Harry in illustration. "Wash the taste of everything else away."  
  
Harry grimaces, but does, in fact, put a different spread on each of his slices of toast. Eggsy hides his smirk in his mug.  
  
"So about that broken arm," Eggsy says. Harry doesn't react, other than nodding to show he's listening. "I'll tell you, but you got to believe me about what happened, okay, Harry?"  
  
"Why wouldn't I believe you?" Harry asks, looking at him in confusion.  
  
"Because you're not going to like the explanation."  
  
"Well, no, of course not," Harry says. "It involves you getting hurt. Of course I'm not going to like it."  
  
Eggsy laughs, feeling better about everything. "You say the strangest, sweetest things," he says, and bites back another laugh when Harry ducks his head and--- Jesus, possibly blushes. How this stone-cold killer still manages to _blush_ when he's honestly complimented, Eggsy has no idea.  
  
Compliments, Eggsy thinks to himself yet again. Lots and lots and lots of compliments.  
  
"What I mean," Eggsy says, "is that you're not going to _want_ to believe the explanation."  
  
"My dear," Harry says, "if there's one thing I've learned over the course of my life, it's how to accept unpalatable truths."  
  
"Right. You got to swear you'll trust me anyway, Harry. I'd never lie to you, swear down."  
  
Which is also true. Eggsy hasn't lied to Harry; still isn't lying to Harry. Is simply perhaps not telling the whole truth.  
  
"I'll believe you," Harry says.  
  
Spiral fractures are indicative of abuse. Everyone knows this. They happen when an arm or a leg is twisted. Toddlers tend to fall and get them all on their own, but if anyone much older than that goes into an A&E with a spiral fracture the authority figures in their life end up getting questioned real quick. "I fell," says Eggsy.  
  
Harry stares at him. He's very clearly not saying what he wants to say.  
  
Eggsy laughs--- genuinely, because this is a bit ridiculous. "And _that_ is why I said you had to believe me. I really did fall. I were jumping off some crates at the shipyards with Jamal and Ryan, and my foot slipped. I went down sideways, kind of spinning, and I tried to catch myself and--- yeah. Could feel my whole arm twist. Freaked me out so bad, you've no idea."  
  
Harry smiles. "I think I might have some idea."  
  
"You ever had a spiral fracture?" Eggsy asks around a bite of toast and eggs.  
  
"Yes, as a matter of fact," says Harry. "Only it was my leg--- my tibia, to be precise. I was standing on muddy ground, and a woman I was speaking to sucker-punched me hard enough to spin me around. The ground was just spongy enough to hold my foot still while the rest of me turned, and--- well. I venture to say the sheer bloody _grossness_ of what happened was worse than the pain."  
  
"Amen," Eggsy says fervently, and Harry smiles at him.  
  
Over the course of the next few days, it turns into an actual game. Harry knows Eggsy's file backwards and forwards and they both know it. It creeped the shit out of Eggsy for a while, not going to lie. But there's no point pretending Harry doesn't know everything. So the first round of the game is this: Harry will mention some incident from Eggsy's file, both so they can acknowledge he knows about it and so Eggsy can tell him about it from his point of view, putting the feelings and details with the events. Coloring in the pictures, as it were. And then, for the next round, they go the other way: Eggsy will ask about some generic life event and Harry---- Harry will tell him.  
  
Harry asks about a shoplifting incident when he was twelve, and Eggsy asks about Harry's first kiss ("A young lady named Caroline Bingley, when I was in first form, behind the swingsets. Both our parents were called"). Eggsy asks about anything he can think of that's likely universal despite the class differences: how did he learn to drive, one time when he was little and scraped his knee, best memory with Mr. Pickle, on and on. Harry tells him each and every story. It's incredible. He still doesn't volunteer information if Eggsy doesn't ask for it, but once Eggsy _has_ asked, he never, ever says no. Never even hesitates. Eggsy's got no idea what he did to win this kind of trust from this man, but God help him, he hopes he never fucks it up.  
  
One of the best ways to fuck it up, he realizes right quick, is to hold back. This is one thing the Study Incident (as Eggsy comes to think of his panic attack in Harry's study, and everything it led to) taught him: Harry can almost always read him like a book, but doesn't always _understand_. So he knew Eggsy was horrified and disgusted, but didn't make the connection between his own supposed death and Eggsy's upset. And the thing is, when it comes to this weird Getting to Know You game they're playing, Harry can always tell when Eggsy's holding out on him, and both times Eggsy tries it, Harry shuts down as well. Not on purpose, really--- it's not like Harry is being a petty dick and refusing to play along until Eggsy does exactly what he wants. Nothing like that. It's just that when Eggsy won't be honest with Harry, Harry gets defensive. And, yeah, Eggsy can see where he's coming from.  
  
The thing is, though, the thing is--- Eggsy _wants_ to open up to Harry. Of course he does. He wants Harry to know everything about him. He wants to no longer need to censor every word and glance and action, lest Harry find out what Eggsy really thinks about him.  
  
That's the rub, though, isn't it. Harry can't know how Eggsy feels about him. So opening up to Harry about literally everything other than that is a special kind of torture.  
  
One day, Eggsy asks a more general question than usual: "So, like, you were a toff growing up, yeah? You ain't like the old Arthur, right, didn't grow up poor and learn how to be a gentleman."  
  
Harry looks at him sharply. "Why do you think Chester King wasn't raised as 'toff' as I was?"  
  
Eggsy shrugs. "He just... Right before he, you know, died, he were talking with the most chav accent I ever heard."  
  
"Really," says Harry.  
  
"God's truth," says Eggsy.  
  
They're sipping drinks on the back step at Harry's place, pretending they're out here because the house is a bit stuffy right now, and really sitting and watching the sunset together like a pair of romantic saps.  
  
"In any event," Harry says, taking a sip from his glass, "to return to your original question: yes, I was indeed a 'toff' growing up. I've been a pretentious dick all my life, I'm afraid."  
  
Eggsy laughs. "Like I always says," and he motions down to himself, "all the classy ones likes a bit of rough."  
  
Harry laughs, too. It's becoming some kind of habit or something, seriously. It's kind of wonderful. "I'd hardly say that's why I'm here with you, my dear," he says.  
  
Eggsy ducks his head and tries to look like he's not preening at every scrap of praise Harry throws his way. "Well. Still. Tell me something about when you was growing up, yeah?"  
  
So Harry does.  
  
Eventually, though, the game shifts: instead of asking Harry about a life event, Eggsy will ask him about a feeling. A time when Harry was happy, or sad, or angry--- and still, still Harry will tell him. Eggsy quickly makes it a rule that nothing after they met is fair game. He says it's because he already knows what happened after they met, obviously. The truth, though, is that Eggsy knows he couldn't bear to hear it, couldn't ever bear it if Harry ever chose to answer with a story that wasn't about him, so he puts it in the rules that such a thing can never happen. Even though--- and he knows this, he does, he just doesn't know what to do about it--- even though that's exactly what he's doing to Harry. No matter what Harry asks him, Eggsy will never say that Harry is what's made him happiest and saddest in his life, will never say that sometimes it seems Eggsy's life begins and ends with Harry Hart.

* * *

Eggsy's not sure what he did in this or previous lives to deserve to end up where he is, but whatever it was, he wants to do it again.  
  
This morning he'd come downstairs to find Harry with a package in his hands. Not moving. It's not even open yet, and he just stands there, staring at it. Eggsy asks, half-joking, if it's a bomb or something. Harry says it's from Merlin. Then, absently, also remarks that his doctor contacted him to say he's in the clear. Not technically recovering anymore. He can get back to his usual duties. His hands barely shake when he puts the box on the table and says, "I'm afraid, dear boy, that these are the prototypes for the eyepatches Merlin's been making for me."  
  
It's like Harry lit a match and Eggsy's veins are filled with petrol. There's just--- fuck, they've been talking so much the last few days that now Eggsy thinks he might be closer to Harry than he's ever been to anyone. And then Harry says he can 'get back to normal activities.' And the way his hands are clenched together to stop the shaking like he's so angry and ashamed to need an eyepatch in the first place and all Eggsy wants to do is _show him_ what he really is.  
  
Harry makes a surprised noise when Eggsy barrels into him and Eggsy catches it in his teeth. He's got Harry's arse halfway on the table and one of his legs around his hip in no time flat. Harry's clutching at his shoulders and arse and sucking his tongue like he wants Eggsy to climb inside him and never come out. They've been sleeping together for weeks at this point, but it's never been like this. Before they always tried to keep some semblance of control: held themselves firm and brought each other off precisely and squeezed their eyes shut and choked off groans.  
  
This is _nothing_ like that.  
  
Eggsy is a hurricane with Harry at his center. Blood rises to his skin and flushes him red and hot and sensitive. He wants to taste Harry everywhere, wants to _have at him_ \--- chest and hair and lips and dick and thighs and skin. God Christ, Eggsy wants to _ravish_ him.  
  
So he does. By the time they get to bed Harry's starkers and Eggsy's nearly there--- they left behind a trail of clothes, including the tattered remains of Harry's pyjama shirt that Eggsy ripped off him--- and Harry's as gone as Eggsy is. Eggsy's never seen him like this; never knew he _could_ be like this. His hair is wild and his eye is wilder and the sex flush goes all the way down to his chest and he's already sporting half a dozen hickies on his neck and beside his nipples and on the side of his hip and the top of his thigh. He's clutching at Eggsy and gasping and his mouth doesn't leave his skin until he falls back on the sheets and Eggsy peels off his boxers and jumps on Harry and they clutch at each other and bite and lick every bit of each other they can reach and Eggsy _loses his goddamn mind_.  
  
And somehow, by some miracle, the whirlwind leads to here: Harry on his back, his legs tight around Eggsy's hips. Eggsy's holding his weight up on his arms, elbows locked, the better to look down at all of Harry's body sweating beneath him. His cock is flushed red and bouncing against his stomach. His hands are clutching at Eggsy's biceps. Eggsy's fucking him _good_ ; smooth and fast. Harry's head is tossing on the pillow, his whole body rocking with the force of it, his hair sticking to his forehead and his mouth open and panting when he catches his breath. A little while ago his eye rolled back in his head.  
  
Eggsy arches his back and drops his head, lifting his hips higher than before so he can watch his cock actually pull out of Harry, and then _push back in_ , and the noise Harry makes would be a wail if his voice was working.  
  
They go and go and go until Eggsy's sweat is pooling beneath Harry's calves on his back and his abs are burning from the strain but it's so good, it's _so_ good, and then Harry's back arches clean off the bed and one of his hands flies to his dick and his mouth opens in what looks like a silent scream and Eggsy steadily fucks him through it. Harry seems to come _forever_ , and then he collapses with his eye closed and heaves for breath, but his hand stays locked on Eggsy's arm and with a shout Eggsy pounds him into the mattress and comes.  
  
When he stops coming, hours later, he's sore and hot and oversensitized and wants to do it all over again. Harry's trembling beneath him, and Eggsy's arms are on fire but he can't get his elbows to unlock so he can lie down. Heaving for breath, Harry cracks an eye to look at him, and it seems like he's trying to smile but is too tired to move his face. With a heave and a grunt he manages to raise his arm and knock Eggsy's left elbow outwards, so he collapses sideways with an undignified "Ugh."  
  
The moment he's down, of course, he's mouthing at whatever bit of Harry's skin is beneath his lips. Shoulder, he thinks. Harry's mostly trapped under Eggsy's not inconsiderable weight, but he's not complaining. After a little while Harry's free hand comes up and rubs his arm slowly.  
  
They snog for a while, and Eggsy's too out of it to curtail it. What might be hours later, though, the sweat is cooled on his back and Harry whispers against his lips, "Much as I like the idea in theory, I don't think being glued together will be pleasant in practice." It takes Eggsy a moment to parse that, but when he does he laughs.  
  
His legs are jelly, but he makes his way to the loo (flipping Harry off when the bastard just laughs at the way he's wobbling) and cleans himself off, then he collapses on the bed and kisses Harry and tries to clean him off at the same time. It doesn't work so well. Eventually Harry takes the flannel from him, pushes his face away, and cleans himself off while they both laugh themselves silly.  
  
Eggsy's sitting up and Harry's lying down, and he rolls over and flings the flannel towards the loo and goes to pull Eggsy down for a kiss, and when he does his cheeks are rosy and his eye is sparkling and he just looks so fucking happy, and that goddamned gauze is still taped over his eye.  
  
"Stay here," Eggsy says against his lips, then kisses him again, then he pulls himself away and runs downstairs fast as he can. A few seconds later he's back, taking a flying leap and jumping onto the bed while Harry pretends to be dramatically upset about this.  
  
He goes still, though, when Eggsy settles back against the headboard with the package from Merlin in his hands.  
  
"Eggsy," says Harry. He doesn't trail off like he does sometimes after saying Eggsy's name, just says it only once, like it contains everything he's trying to convey. He's not wrong.  
  
"Let's see what we gots here," Eggsy says, pretending at cheerful obliviousness. He opens the box and pulls out a few papers--- sets them aside; they look like instructions or something, so they can wait---- and starts pulling out the actual prototype eyepatches. Each one is in its own silky pouch, and soon he's got four of them laid out on his (bare) stomach.  
  
"Eggsy," Harry says again--- but gently this time, laying his hands over Eggsy's to still them, like Eggsy is the one who needs to be talked down right now.  
  
"Harry," Eggsy says, turning to look at him. He wants to point out that not wearing them won't make them go away, and keeping his eye covered won't make it grow back. But that's probably a bit much, especially since Eggsy wants to keep this as lighthearted-banter-sexual-undercurrent as he could. "You got a problem with the color black, bruv?"  
  
Harry's visible eyebrow comes down. "What?"  
  
Eggsy gestures at the eyepatches folded on his abs. He notices, of course, when Harry spends a few extra moments looking at his skin instead of the eyepatches. "Grey and blue. I 'spect there's no black at all in this box, though it could be I just haven't found it yet."  
  
Their eyes catch again, and Harry gives him a hard look for a long, long time. Finally--- and with a gravitas in no way called for--- Harry says, "Solid black is too harsh against my skin-tone. Washes me out."  
  
"Charcoal's a real nice look on you, though," Eggsy says, holding out the darkest eyepatch. Harry keeps looking at him, his face completely unmoving, but Eggsy smiles his most boyishly charming smile and kind of waggles it at him, and finally Harry sighs and takes it from him.  
  
Eggsy kisses his cheek, and Harry looks at the eyepatch in his hand like now he's got it he doesn't know what to do with it. He glances at the loo, then back at Eggsy's bare stomach, then stares at the eyepatch and hesitates. After a moment of indecision, he actually manages to surprise Eggsy by--- ducking beneath the duvet?  
  
Eggsy just sits there and stares, open-mouthed, at the lump that is his mature, suave, experienced, fiftysomething-year-old boyfriend _hiding under the covers_.  
  
A moment and a few strange movements later, and Harry sits up again, the gauze in his hands and the eyepatch over his eye.  
  
There is--- nothing in the world that could have prepared Eggsy for the sight of it.  
  
" _Jesus fuck_ ," falls out of Eggsy's mouth. Harry's face snaps around to look at him, and yeah, Harry doesn't look too happy. Or confident, or calm, or anything other than ashamed, really, and Eggsy should not be getting off on anything about this situation. That was probably the wrong thing to say. But, just, "I'm sorry, I know I ought to be supportive and all, but God--- just holy shitting _balls_ , Harry that is one of the most dead-sexy things I ever seen."  
  
Now Harry looks surprised, and that's a nice change of pace after the whole hiding-under-the-covers thing. "What?" he says.  
  
Eggsy makes a few fluttering motions with his hands, swallows a few times, tries to be articulate and comes up with, "You just--- and it--- with--- how did, _how_ \--- and you---" And then he can't fucking take it anymore and pounces.  
  
Because really. That eyepatch. That fucking _eyepatch_. Who knew those could be such a turn-on? Even taking into account the fact that basically everything about Harry turns Eggsy on one way or another, Eggsy still hadn't expected this. It just makes him look so--- "It's because it looks so sophisticated and edgy and posh and real _dangerous_ , all at once," and then Eggsy realizes he stopped kissing Harry long enough to say that aloud.  
  
"Really," Harry says, but he's laughing again. "Are you saying you want me to model the _eyepatches_ for you?"  
  
"Yes," Eggsy says, nodding so hard he nearly knocks Harry in the face. "Yes yes yes yes. But like, _sexy_ model."  
  
Harry laughs himself nearly sick, and Eggsy does, too, and they roll around and Eggsy can't stop snickering and kissing any bit of Harry he can reach, and this way it's a game when Harry pries Eggsy off his face long enough to duck under the covers again to switch eyepatches. But this time they're pressed together from stomach to ankle, so it's both more and less strange that Harry's hiding his face.  
  
They fuck again--- of course they do, how could they not--- and today is a first for bleeding everything, because by the time Harry's got the sixth eyepatch on (wine-red, Christ, the things it does to the color of his eye and his lips and cheeks and---) he's also pressed tight behind Eggsy, their legs tangled together, his left arm an iron band around Eggsy's waist and his right arm beneath Eggsy's head. Eggsy's nearly crying it's so intense. His right hand is clutching at the sheets, just to give himself some kind of anchor, and his left arm is hooked up around Harry's neck to keep his face pulled over Eggsy's shoulder, and Eggsy can't stop trying to kiss him and mouthing at his cheek and jaw and running his lips along the edge of the eyepatch while oh God Harry  _fucks_ him---  
  
It's slow, and _immediate_ in a way nothing else ever has been. Harry's pressed against him from cheek to knee, their legs entangled, and Eggsy can feel Harry's abs flexing against his own arse, can feel Harry's chest heaving against his back, can feel the living heat of him, wrapped around him and filling his every pore, can feel Harry's blood-hot cock deep inside him and moving so goddamn _slow_ , pressing forward and then easing up, and then pressing even _deeper_ \---  
  
Harry kisses him as he comes, sobbing, and then Harry fucks him harder--- one, two, only three, and then he's coming too, shaking and shouting and holding him so tight Eggsy's ribs creak and Harry's still not close enough.  
  
Eggsy just lays there, maybe crying (not like emotional tears, but holy-God- _intense_ sex-tears, so it's fine), Harry draped over his back. He's read enough harlequin romances to have heard of people using sex to take someone apart and put them back together, but that's not what's happening here. If anything, Harry flew apart same as Eggsy did, and he's in no position to pick up the pieces.  
  
It's more like. . . more like this destroyed Eggsy more than he was already destroyed, but the weight of Harry across his back and the surety of his arms around him has kept all the little pieces of Eggsy from falling out of alignment.  
  
"So," Harry says quietly, when Eggsy drifts awake what feels like hours later, "eyepatches are a go."  
  
Eggsy smiles and yawns and stretches; rolls over to pull Harry into his arms and kiss him again. "Yeah," he says, "eyepatches are _definitely_ a go."

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Taani:** What... What is this?  
**Suri:** It's love, Taani-partner, swear to God it's true love.  
**Taani:** How can you be so happy? How can you love me without expecting love in return? Do you not feel pain?  
**Suri:** Pain? Love is God's great gift; how can there be pain in it? And as for expecting love in return, one doesn't love only if the love is reciprocated. Look, I see God in you, so I fell in love with you. It's very simple. Now, you shouldn't have to worry at all about this, so here, drink some hot, hot chai.  
[-Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi, Aditya Chopra](https://youtu.be/E9XJGUEecyE)

* * *

 

 

Eggsy can tell when it happens. He asks some stupid little question--- later he can't even remember what it was, it's that insignificant--- and Harry looks at him a bit longer than he usually does before answering. And this time, instead of just telling whatever story it is that Eggsy asked for, he says, "You asked me several days ago if I was raised well-off."  
  
"I did, yeah," Eggsy says.  
  
"I was, you know," Harry says. Then he looks away, but he keeps talking. "I had no brothers or sisters. Honestly, I think my parents never should have had me at all."  
  
"Harry---" Eggsy starts, leaning forward and gripping Harry's wrist.  
  
"No, that's not what I meant," Harry says, shaking his head. He covers Eggsy's hand with his own, though. "Not that I wish I had never been born, simply that my parents were not equipped to handle a child. I'm fairly certain the only reason they had me at all was because it was expected of them, not through some great desire to bring a child into this world."  
  
Eggsy doesn't say anything, just settles back in his chair and leaves his hand where it is. Harry doesn't move his hand, either.  
  
"I was given the best education money could buy, of course. Boarding schools from the time I was seven. Oh, don't look at me like that; it's simply how things were in those days. It's how many children are raised today, and most of them turn out perfectly well-adjusted."  
  
"And the rest of them turn into Charlie fucking Hesketh," Eggsy says, because he's still not over that bastard.  
  
Harry smiles. "Yes. And some of them turn out worse. Some of them turn out like me."  
  
Eggsy closes his eyes and thunks his head against the back of his chair. "Harry, I swear to Christ, one of these days I really _am_ going to punch you in the mouth for saying shit like that about yourself."  
  
This time Harry huffs a laugh. "If you would allow me to finish, my dear."  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Eggsy says, waving a hand imperiously.  
  
"I read medicine at King's, and---"  
  
Eggsy's eyes pop open. "You're a _doctor_?" JFC.  
  
Harry mock-glares at him. "Yes. And perhaps I could finish what I'm trying to tell you without further interruptions?"  
  
Eggsy manages to close his mouth. "No promises, bruv," he says, and resists the urge to kiss the back of Harry's hand. "I'll try, though."  
  
"Very well," Harry says. Then he clears his throat and shifts about a bit before continuing. "I have always had a craving for adventure, and an ego the size of the country. I thought I could save the world, and I thought I'd have fun doing it. So I joined the RAMC."  
  
God in heaven. Eggsy isn't plotting how he's going to go about getting his hands on pictures of Harry in his military uniform. Nope. He's also not working out the next time he's likely to be here alone for a significant amount of time so he can go through everything in the attic and see if Harry still _has_ his old uniform. Not at all.  
  
"You must understand," Harry says quietly. "I was from a wealthy family and held an MD. Most of the troops weren't like that. A great number of them had lived in relative poverty; most of the non-officers had received no secondary education whatsoever. Even the officers generally didn't have as high a degree as mine, and virtually none of them had received their education at institutions of the caliber I had. Add to that the fact that I had spent my entire life told to think a certain way and had neither sought nor received evidence to the contrary, compounded by the fact that my actual job description was to sweep in and save them all--- of course I thought they were somehow _less_ than I. Given everything, it was obvious that I snatched people from the jaws of death; they were mere cannon fodder."  
  
Before Eggsy can feel much of anything about that speech, before he can even really process the fact that he's just heard it, Harry says: "I was overseas for barely six months before I was recruited into Kingsman. There was an--- incident at that time. There was an ambush and the base was overrun, and I was told later that my conduct was admirable. So admirable, in fact, that it drew the attention of a man who introduced himself to me as Lancelot. He proposed me as the replacement for a recently killed agent codenamed Galahad, and the rest, as they say, is history."  
  
"But that's not---" Eggsy starts. He wants to say 'that's not the end of the story,' because it isn't, it _can't_ be. Because this story isn't about how Harry joined Kingsman, this story is about the fact that Harry used to be a closed-minded bigoted prick, but Eggsy knows the end of this story already. He is _living proof_ that the story doesn't stop there.  
  
"What happened?" is all Eggsy asks.  
  
"Many things," Harry says, taking a sip and then watching the liquid swirl about in his glass. "What happened during the war was--- Eggsy, you cannot imagine the horror of it. I'm _thankful_ you cannot imagine. I went directly from that situation into Kingsman. I had no time to--- process, for lack of a better word. Chester King, who wasn't Arthur yet, took a shine to me, or at least to my pedigree, and took me under his wing. They all told me that when the base was overrun I had done very well, but so many people died that day, Eggsy. And a great number of those deaths were my fault, directly or indirectly. At the time I thought I was handling it very well, but looking back I can see that I turned a burgeoning superiority complex into a full-blown defense mechanism." He finally looks at Eggsy, cutting him a little sarcastic grin that looks like it hurts. "No reason for survivor's guilt if the dead were less valuable than myself, you see."  
  
And yeah, that is something Eggsy gets. He doesn't agree with it of course, and clearly neither does Harry anymore, but this isn't about a genuine superiority complex. Now this is about a man who never had anyone stand by him, not really, dealing with something awful. Eggsy can just imagine Chester King whispering poison in his ear under the guise of easing his pain, and how easy it would have been for Harry to grasp the lifeline.  
  
"People'll take anything they can hold on to, situation like that," Eggsy says quietly. "I may know fuck-all about most things, but I do know that, bruv." One of these days he's going to slip and say 'love' instead, but hopefully Harry won't notice.  
  
"I did try other things, as well," Harry says. "I'd never had much time to waste on sex or relationships before, but after all of that I decided to snatch a little happiness where I could find it. I was too young to realize that I was looking in entirely the wrong place, of course."  
  
And Eggsy--- is really going to try really really hard to not take that the way it sounds. And it sounds fucking dire. Sex and relationships are the wrong place to try and find a little happiness? The fuck are the two of them doing, then?  
  
But he holds his tongue (miracle of miracles), and Harry continues: "I tried looking in the obvious place first, of course. It was the only time I ever became romantically involved with another Kingsman, present situation excluded. Again, looking back, I can see it was almost entirely based on physical attraction and convenience. Not the best reason to embark on a true relationship, I'll grant you."  
  
Then Harry stops, and takes a drink, and swirls his cup, and doesn't say anything else. And Eggsy may not be able to read Harry half so well as he would like, or half so well as Harry can read him, but especially over the last few weeks Eggsy's picked up a thing or two. He knows Harry wants to keep talking, and doesn't know what to say. And if there's one thing Harry absolutely _hates_ it's being at a loss for words.  
  
"How'd it end?" Eggsy asked. "And I'm assuming here that it did end, elsewise you've left out some fair pertinent information, bruv."  
  
As he hoped, that does get Harry to crack a smile. "Yes, it ended," he says. "There were many reasons. We had to deal with the constant knowledge of how easy it would be for one of us to be injured or killed. Arthur--- the previous Arthur, that is--- didn't approve. And also, quite frankly, both of us shot the damn dogs. We should have known right from the off that it wouldn't work."  
  
Harry drains his glass.  
  
"Maybe," Eggsy says, trying not to let his voice go soft and sweet. He shrugs. "But knowing the outcome of something before you start don't sound like an exciting way to live, does it?"  
  
"No," Harry says, staring into his empty glass, "I suppose not."  
  
Are they thinking the same thing, right now? Wondering if they both know how this is going to end, and wondering which of them will strike the first blow? Eggsy vows all over again that it won't be him. He won't be the one to break it off but he'll go without a fight; he'll do it for Harry.  
  
"After that," Harry starts up again, apparently determined to get through this, though why he is Eggsy has no idea, "I attempted relationships once or twice outside Kingsman. None of them could be honest, of course, but I did try. I was only ever serious once, and I was serious for all the wrong reasons. She and I had very little in common and almost no natural sympathy between us, but I refused to leave her. It was more to prove to myself that I _could_ do this if I set my mind to it, I think. I was determined to make it work just to show I could, rather than because I held any real affection for her. I stayed until long after it was poison for both of us. In fact, it was only when Merlin pointed out that my foul mood was affecting my work that I finally put an end to it."  
  
"Was it a relief?" Eggsy asks.  
  
Harry nods. "Yes, I'm ashamed to say, it was."  
  
"Don't be ashamed, bruv," says Eggsy. "Just be glad you got out. Be glad you _could_." Neither of them say, and Eggsy certainly didn't bring it up on purpose, but the spectre of Dean Baker hovers in front of them for just a moment.  
  
"And, of course," Harry continues after a second, and it sort of feels like he speaks quickly to draw Eggsy out of his thoughts, "I had a few missions involving sex and romance. Because I gave up on relationships of my own fairly early on in my Kingsman career, I was often selected for such missions. Most others bowed out in order to remain faithful to their partners. Certainly all the other single agents were a great deal older than I was. It's no wonder, really.  
  
"And, truth be told," Harry says, "I almost think it was a good thing I got all those missions. Very few of them were true honeypots. Most of them were very involved, and required months of preparation and execution. I had to spend so much time and thought simulating a relationship that I became very well-educated, for lack of a better word, on what makes a healthy romantic relationship. Even though I'd never actually had one, of course. I learned what's required to make one."  
  
And this time Harry turns to him, and draws Eggsy's hand to his lips, and smiles.  
  
This is entirely too fucking much. This goes on much longer and Eggsy's going to blurt out something he can't take back. "And that's it, then? Learning about relationships is what--- what got you from there to here?"  
  
Harry chuckles. "Is it what made me less of a classist dick, you mean? No, not really."  
  
"What did, then?" He's fucking breathless. Literally _breathless_ because Harry is still cradling his hand, running his thumb over his knuckles.  
  
"It was nothing specific," Harry says. "I don't remember any of the details surrounding the epiphany. But one ordinary day I realized that I was both cruel and unhappy. At the time I didn't understand the difference between manners and kindness, so it took me a while to understand that even though I was polite, I was also unkind."  
  
Harry smiles, a tiny ghost of a thing, but at least it looks sincere. "I'd been in Kingsman for a while at that point, and considering my naturally studious nature, of course I conducted research to find a solution to my problem. It was a nebulous thing, though, something I couldn't even put into words. Eventually I began seeing the germs of discussions about my problem in various stories. I found that quote by Hemingway I told you when we went to the tailor shop together the first time, do you remember?"  
  
"Yeah," Eggsy says quietly. "There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility comes from being superior to your former self." Of course he remembers. That was the last time he and Harry were happy together before it all went to shit.  
  
"It was things like that which finally prompted me to take a good, long look at the world around me," says Harry. "And I came to yet another realization: what Kingsman does--- all the hours and hours of research and surveillance, all the danger, all the fights and training and loss, we do it for more than just ourselves and the privileged few. We do it for the single mothers of the world, for middle-class barristers working too many hours, for homeless war veterans, for _everyone_. I started trying to force myself to think of every human being as equal, and once I did I realized to my shame that I didn't have to _force_ myself to pretend they were like that. So long as one _sees_ people instead of just looking at them, it's obvious."  
  
Eggsy's never been to church, never heard a sermon that wasn't some kind of joke on Father Ted or something, but he thinks that if he could tape this they'd play it in holy places all over the world.  
  
"And I realized that part of the problem was homogeneity," Harry continues, oblivious to the fact that Eggsy's quietly finding God beside him. "It's so difficult to understand that people who aren't like you are still _people_ if you never have the opportunity to get to know anyone who _isn't_ like you. The same way it's hard to see anyone in an ivory tower as something other than a blind snob," and here he and Eggsy smile at each other, just a little, "so also is it hard for the overprivileged to understand that the underprivileged are just that: lacking in opportunities, rather than wasting them. Then the man who recruited me died, and I spent a long time combing through Army records to find a young man who was from a certain background and had the potential to replace him."  
  
"My dad," says Eggsy.  
  
Harry nods. "Your father," he says. "I brought in some uncouth chav, and when everyone else tried to save their own arses instead he saved us all. It was a passage through fire, as it were, for me. I was never the same after. It was an improvement."  
  
Eggsy's going to watch the footage. He couldn't do it before; couldn't bring himself to watch his father killed, even though he's technically had access to the file since he joined Kingsman. But it's always in the back of his mind, that he wants to know what really happened, even though he knows he won't be able to handle it.  
  
Now, though, it won't just be about watching his father die. That'll be part of it, of course, and Eggsy knows it'll fuck him up something fierce. But there's a _point_ to it now. Instead of ripping open old wounds for the hell of it, he'll now be able to simultaneously look at it from a different perspective as well: as a defining moment in the life of the man who's come to define _Eggsy's_ life.  
  
I love you, he wants to say. He almost does. Or maybe thank you. He probably shouldn't say that, either.  
  
"I'm glad," is what falls out of his mouth. Harry looks at him in surprise. And he's _Harry_ : brilliant, foul-mouthed, trouble-making gorgeous Harry, who without all the terrible things he's just said wouldn't be who he is underneath all that. "I'm really fucking glad it all happened, if what came out of it was you."  
  
Harry smiles at him--- and not a small one, this time. It's _blinding_.  
  
Like he's been confident in himself all this time, and yet this is the first time someone _else_ has approved of who he is. Validation, thinks Eggsy. Compliments about his looks, and lots and lots of validation. Who'd've thought.  
  
And then Eggsy's too busy laughing that all this time later he's _still_ realizing Roxy was right to panic over how much of his heart must be showing in his eyes.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

This is the story of a man who died twice.  
[- _I Love You_ , Woodkid](https://youtu.be/KQu8FOjJXdI)

"In the moment when I truly understand my enemy, understand him well enough to defeat him, then in that very moment I also love him. I think it's impossible to really understand somebody, what they want, what they believe, and not love them the way they love themselves. And then, in that very moment when I _love_ them... I _destroy_ them."  
[-Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card](https://www.bookdepository.com/search?searchTerm=ender%27s+game&search=Find+book)

 

Just because Eggsy now has a good reason to watch the footage of his dad's first and last mission doesn't make it easy. It's still going to be fucking brutal, whether or not it'll be a bit better now than it would have been before. Twice he sets out to start reviewing what he's come to think of as The File, and twice he chickens out and lets himself get sidetracked.  
  
Both times he starts poking through Harry's old files instead. He accidentally comes across one of the missions Harry mentioned before, one when he had to spend six months pretending to be in a relationship with a Chilean woman. More than that: a mission where he had to convince another human being that he loved her.  
  
Eggsy makes his way through a handful of such files before he has an epiphany all his own: when it comes to romance and relationships, _Harry Hart has NO FUCKING IDEA what he's doing._  
  
In a panic he pulls out his phone, then doesn't know who to text. His first inclination for everything is to go crying to Harry, of course, but that's right out. The next obvious choice is Roxy, but whether or not she's one of Eggsy's best friends she's also Harry's colleague. It doesn't feel right, to tell her something like this about him. He's hardly told his mum _anything_ about Harry, and while he loves his mum to bits he also knows she's not exactly the best person to be giving romantic advice. Merlin? No, his loyalty is to Harry first and Eggsy second, so he'd just prevaricate and say that if Eggsy wants to know something he ought to talk to Harry himself.  
  
Eggsy takes a deep breath, braces himself, and texts Jamal.  
  
An hour later they're sitting with their feet hanging over the edge of the roof of an abandoned warehouse they used to come to all the time when they wanted to do something illegal or illicit.  
  
"So," Jamal says, tossing a bit of brick, "you need advice about _Harry_?"  
  
"Yeah," Eggsy says, breaking a twig into smaller and smaller pieces. This would be so much easier if they were in a pub somewhere, but while Eggsy no longer needs to worry about himself, Jamal still can't let on that he bats for the other team. Public is too risky. So they have a six pack on the roof behind them, but it's still not the same without all the noise and cheery chaos of a pub around them. This is too direct; makes things too hard to talk about.  
  
Jamal asks, "He do something, cuz?" His voice is dark.  
  
" _Jesus_ , no," Eggsy says. "He's still basically perfect and all."  
  
Jamal laughs. It doesn't sound as bitter as it could.  
  
"The thing is," Eggsy says. "We, um. Well, he told me about some of his exes and all. And he ain't--- he really ain't _never_ had a good one, you get me? Like every single relationship he's ever had before weren't--- I just--- argh." He twists his hair in his hands. How the fuck is he going to explain this to someone who isn't Kingsman? Maybe this wasn't a good idea.  
  
"Like what, exactly?" Jamal asks. "All his exes cheaters and abusers or summat?"  
  
"No," Eggsy says. "Nothing--- obvious, I guess. It's just." Think, think, think, how to do this--- "Harry's job were different from mine for a while," Eggsy says slowly. "You'd never know it, but tailoring can be pretty cutthroat. I mean, it's like, it don't matter that really all we do is put together bits of cloth for people to cover themselves up with. All the clients are real rich and powerful, and honestly all the tailors except me is, too. And when you gets that many rich, powerful people together, there's wheels within wheels, you get me?"  
  
Jamal thinks this over for a second, then nods slowly. "Yeah," he says after a moment. "Yeah. I get it. It's like when you throw a bunch of military types together. Don't matter what they're actually doing, everything is battle plans and strategies in their heads."  
  
"Exactly," Eggsy says. "And the other tailors at our shop, and the tailors at the rival shops, and most of the customers, they're _political_ types, you feel?"  
  
"Jesus," Jamal huffs a chuckle, "that does sound right fucking awful, cuz."  
  
Eggsy smiles and shrugs. "It ain't all bad. Sometimes it's fun. But anyway. So the thing is, Harry's one of these blokes who's real--- a real loner. No brothers or sisters, parents ignored him all his life, the whole thing. Then when he grows up he tries going out with a few people, only it never worked, see? Tried dating other tailors, only it were too much about work. Tried dating people what weren't in the business, only they could never really understand. And once or twice he sort of--- Jesus, I don't even know how to explain this. He, like, fake-dated people for business reasons? Put on a bleeding good show, too, from what I can tell. Made like it were a real healthy relationship, and like he really loved them and all."  
  
"That is fucking cold," says Jamal. He doesn't sound judgemental or angry, more like he's just saying. Commenting on the weather. Possibly he sounds a bit impressed.  
  
"Yeah," Eggsy says. "He knows it, too. And he told me about it. He ain't no saint, and he ain't never tried to tell me he were. Tried to convince me the opposite, often enough."  
  
After a moment to gather his thoughts, Eggsy says, "He's also real arrogant. Not _anything_ like most other people. And he don't judge. He never thinks he's better than no one else. It's just--- he's confident, yeah? But sometimes he's too confident. He gets arrogant and thinks that he knows _everything_ , that he's just got this whole thing locked down, only that ain't the way it is. He don't even realize he's _being_ arrogant right now; he's that far up his own arse. He just thinks he's got this whole relationship thing down pat, you get me? But he don't. Not at all. How could he? He's never actually _had_ a real one. He just don't realize it."  
  
"And now you want him to have one with you," Jamal says.  
  
"Of _course_ I do---" Eggsy snaps before he realizes what he's saying. He stops. He clicks his mouth shut.  
  
Jamal cuts him a glance. Eggsy huffs and looks away.  
  
"Cuz," says Jamal, and it sounds like he's laughing. "Why are you even here?"  
  
Eggsy looks at him in confusion. "What do you mean why am I here? I need some fucking _advice_ , bruv! The man ain't never had a good relationship before. Not ever. He's got not the faintest clue _what_ the fuck he's doing. What do I _do_? How can---"  
  
"Love him right," Jamal says with a shrug.  
  
"That's not---"  
  
"It _is_ ," Jamal says. He looks at Eggsy, and suddenly this isn't funny anymore. Not that it was funny before, but now this is serious as a fucking heart attack. "He ain't never been in a good relationship before? He don't know what the fuck he's doing? Ain't no one else ever cared about him? Fine. You show him, then."  
  
"I don't know what _I'm_ doing, either!"  
  
"Neither did I!" Jamal yells. "Fuck's sake, cuz, we got together when we was _fifteen fucking years old_! It took us near three years to sort our shit out! You _know_ that shit weren't easy. You _know_ it. All we _had_ was how much we cared about each other and wanted each other to be happy. You think his shitty childhood rivals ours, bruv? _We_ still managed to sort it out. You want to know why you're here with me, 'stead of with any of your fancy new friends who actually knows this Harry? It's because you _know_ that in spite of _everything_ , Ryan and me is the best fucking _relationship_ that _you ever seen_!"  
  
For one second, Eggsy thinks Jamal's going to tip himself off the roof.  
  
He doesn't, but it's a near thing. This is the first time Eggsy's actually heard Jamal say Ryan's name since he died. Jamal presses his fingers to his eyes. Fuck, they're both crying.  
  
Gasping, manly tears, of course, the kind where it sounds more like they've both run a mile rather than lost their shit, but still. Fuck everything. Eggsy wraps his arms around his broken best friend and holds on.  
  
After a little while Jamal pushes him away, and they both wipe at their eyes and noses like it's just cold outside or something.  
  
"The thing is," Eggsy tries to say a little while later, "the thing is. You was--- you two was together, yeah? Always. And you were--- the same. Me and Harry..." he trails off, and once more Jamal waits for him to finish. "The thing is. Harry don't think much of himself right now. I know I just said he's arrogant, and he is, and real confident and comfortable in his own skin. But he's got his issues, too. There's things he's done what fucked him up pretty bad. And if I... I'm so scared," he blurts out. "Because I want to make him happy, I do, but once he realizes he's worth more, that he's capable of _more_ \--- he'll start wanting it. And once he wants more, he'll go get it. I'll have to watch him walk away _again_ and get my heart broke all over."  
  
"And this, children," quotes Jamal, "is the story of a man who died twice."  
  
Eggsy closes his eyes. "Pretty much."  
  
A moment later, Jamal shrugs. "Don't mean I'm wrong," he says.  
  
"I know," says Eggsy. And he does, really.

* * *

Eggsy and Jamal part ways, and before he can loose his nerve, Eggsy goes back to the Kingsman manor and doesn't stop to breathe until he's locked himself in his office with the lights off and has The File loading on his laptop. While he waits for the whole thing to come up he fires off his nightly texts--- his mum, Jamal, and one to Harry saying he's going to be out late and don't wait up--- and then as soon as it's loaded Eggsy jumps in and doesn't let himself think about it too much.   
  
It does fuck him up. It fucks him up _hard_.  
  
He stays in his dark office long after his laptop suspends in his hands. He only leaves when he decides he doesn't want to answer Harry's questions if he doesn't make it back at all tonight, or if he sleeps at his mum's instead.  
  
The lights are still on when he gets to Harry's, but thankfully the man himself is asleep on the couch. He must have nodded off waiting up. Eggsy sits on the other side of the room and stares at him.  
  
Harry lied to him. 'His courage saved the lives of every man present,' those were Harry's _exact fucking words_ when he told Eggsy what'd happened to his father. Horseshite. Eggsy just watched the footage. Over and over again, from the recorded viewpoints of all four agents. Merlin and James, they were never in any danger at all. There was no risk to them. They were never going to die. Because Harry was going to jump on the grenade himself.  
  
Lee didn't save all of them. Lee saved only Harry.  
  
Eggsy's seen the first Captain America. He knows that Lee and Harry were the best of the lot--- knows that, had Lee lived through diving on top of the grenade, he'd have been knighted, no further questions asked. In the end, James didn't win the position of Lancelot by his own merits; he was the second runner-up who got knighted when the real winner was disqualified on account of being dead. He got the position by default, and Eggsy could hate him for it if he weren't dead now, too.  
  
And Merlin--- Merlin ran, too. Saved his own arse. Eggsy likes Merlin, likes him a lot--- odd as it is, Merlin is one of Eggsy's best friends. And the part of Eggsy that makes excuses for people he likes is saying that Merlin doesn't do fieldwork, was ill-equipped to handle a situation as volatile and bloody as that one, and can't really be blamed for reacting the way people normally do in situations like that. The rest of him blames Merlin for being the only coward in the room who's still breathing.  
  
He can't help but wonder if the instinct Lee acted on was to save others--- or to save _Harry_.  
  
Because Harry's been right fit since before he joined Kingsman. Eggsy's watched enough of the old footage to know that much. And Eggsy's been through the training, too, and even though Harry was in a coma for most of it, he knows how close some of the other candidates got to their sponsors.  
  
More than that, he's known people who fall in love with someone and don't realize it. Because the person they fall in love with is the same gender as them, or already married, or whatever. Sometimes people fall in love with someone it never occurs to them they could love at all, so they don't realize what it is even when it happens. By all accounts his mum and dad were over the moon for each other. But Eggsy's never seen solid proof that it's impossible to love more than one person at once.  
  
That's not the point, though. What he's avoiding thinking about is that he could hate Harry for everything, too.  
  
That's the worst bit, the thing that's got him all spun about: he hates his dad for dying on purpose, he hates Harry for missing the grenade in the first place, he hates Harry for trying to die, he hates them both so much he's sick with it, but only because he doesn't want either of them to be dead.  
  
And that's the one part of this that completely blindsided him. Eggsy thought he missed his dad already, even though never really knew him. Now he knows a man round about his age named Lee Unwin, and Eggsy loves him with all his broken heart.  
  
The sky is lightening out the windows when Eggsy finally gets to his feet and shuts off the lights. He sits on the couch by Harry's hip and cards his fingers through his hair for a bit.  
  
"Hey," he whispers, then kisses Harry's cheek. "Hey, come on. Get up."  
  
Harry groans and turns his face into the couch cushions. Eggsy kisses his cheek again, shakes his shoulder a bit. "Come on, Harry, get up. Let's get to bed, yeah?"  
  
Eventually Harry blearily sits up, and Eggsy tucks himself under Harry's arm and half-carries him upstairs. Harry falls face-first onto the bed, and Eggsy marvels at the trust Harry's subconscious displays when Eggsy tugs him this way and that to strip him down to his boxers, then crawls into bed beside him and Harry sleeps through the whole thing.  
  
He wants to say it now, wants to say I hate you so much but only because I'm so helplessly in love with you, but there's a chance Harry might be awake enough to hear.  
  
Instead Eggsy spoons up behind him and kisses his hair and whispers to him, "I'm so glad you're here with me. I'm going to try real hard to hold on to that." Eventually he falls asleep, and dreams he's drowning in a whirlpool that's sucking him away from dust and fire and blue skies and into deep, dark sadness.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you like the epigraphs, you can click on the title to read/listen/watch/whatever. For more insanity, come scream with me: jezebelgoldstone.tumblr.com.
> 
> Eternal gratitude to the Beta Who Shall Remain Unnamed: you were great, darling, and while I was writing this I was so excited to show it to you.


End file.
